


Take These Wings

by Aragem



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Angels, Demons, F/M, Fallen Angels, Mystery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragem/pseuds/Aragem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Angel of Death disappears from Earth, Death is charged with returning her back to her rightful place.  Unfortunately, there is a problem.  She doesn't want to go back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Quit

The child stumbled along the dried grass, tiny feet barely grasping the mastery of walking, but she moved with determine steps toward her destination. The flower patch bobbed in the gentle breeze and the child dropped onto her plump rear before them, a hand with tiny fingers grasped at them. Large dark eyes stared at the white petals with innocent curiosity even as her small hand crushed them.

From a stone, in the shade of a tree, a shadow moved. If the child had cause to turn her face, she would have seen the outline of wings that spanned wider than the village huts and an exotic woman with raven hair that hung down her body. The woman sat with elbow on knee and cheek in hand. Charcoal eyes watched the girl child as she continued to play with the flowers. Then she was gone.

The mother, who had watched her child, but did not see the woman, collected her daughter and returned to the collected huts. The sun was waning and night would come. The night did come and with it came men on horseback with torches and swords.

The morning came soon. The village was no more. Cinders, charred bodies, and blood left a round mark on the earth. The woman, wings spread, walked among the remains, sandaled feet barely touching the refuse. Her eyes looked at the remains with no apparent emotion. Humans twisted jointed actions of agony, raped women with slit throats, and parents with bashed heads who fought to protect their children. She came to the edge of the burned village.

At the edge was rocks on which a small body had been bash upon. The girl child's head was crushed as she had crushed the white petals from before. The woman knelt, her wings folding behind her, ebony feathers as dark as a crows drifted to the earth torn by horse hooves. She touched the tiny hand curled on in the dirt.

"This is how you hold a flower." The woman's voice was soft, smooth as a black opal.

The tiny hand was now holding a white flower by the stem.

* * *

Death, eldest of the Four Horsemen and one of the most feared and hated beings in Creation approached the Angelic outpost. His steed carried him on powerful legs with wisps of ethereal flame flowing behind him.

The Charred Council had sent him to meet with a certain angel in the library archives. All that Death understood was that this order was due to a missing angel. Missing persons wasn't something that Death felt needed his attentions, however, he was predispose to carry out the Council's will due to angering them so during the Grand Abomination incident. And they deemed that this was a mission that needed his attention.

The library was like any angelic archives. Tall tower with walls lined with shelves packed side to side with tomes, scrolls, and even tablets. Angel Scribes flew to and fro researching, recording, and reading. Death was ignored and Death was more than happy to be ignored. He ascended to the third level where his contact was waiting.

He recognized the wide wings with arcane runes glowing blue on long feathers. The Archangel Azrael stood at a balcony wearing robes of blues and greens with a semi-circle of gold atop his shoulders. And he wasn't alone. Beside him, a young angel girl in a simple tunic dress with ivory hair tied back into a gold headdress stood with him. They spoke quietly, but hushed when Death approached them.

"Death, the Charred Council sent you?" Azrael didn't look pleased to see him.

"Ah, it's nice to see you again." Death's graveled voice replied in a mockery of charmed.

"My apologies, but I requested that Fury take on this mission." Azrael glanced at the young angel beside him and she looked back with a worry written in her silver eyes. "She would take a . . . gentle approach."

"Alas, but you get me instead." Death waved a hand wrapped in leather straps. "You know how I like to store my patience. Tell me what the matter is that you would prefer my sister to me?"

Azrael closed his eyes, as if he was sending a small prayer to the Creator, then spoke, "One of our angels has abandoned her post."

Death stared at him for five heartbeats before replying, "Is that all? Well, let me find the scrapper and I'll send her back to her post with a boot in her ass. Surely this is something an angelic superior should handle. Why involve the Charred Council?"

"Because this angel is the Angel of Death for the Third Kingdom." Azrael tucked his hands into the deep sleeves of his robe. "And without her, the souls of the dead will wander the Earth and never go to the Well of Souls."

Behind the mask, an eyebrow arched. "Surely, she could be replaced."

"Have some faith in me, Horsemen." Azrael scoffed and the young angel beside him looked indignant. "If it was that simple, you'd think I would not have already done that and not involved the Council?"

"Being an Angel of Death isn't like guard duty. Darissa has been attuned to the Earth in its infancy." The young angel spoke up for the first time. "The human race is in turned attuned to her. Only she can summon them to her side and she takes them to the Well of Souls. Replacing her will take thousands of years and by that time the Earth will be full of lost spirits and ghosts."

"And this is?" Death stared at the young angel.

"This is Leriel, one of my young acolytes. She was the last person to see Darissa before she disappeared. I brought her here so she can share her story with you that she shared with me. Speak, child."

For a moment, the angel looked as if she would declare that she was no child, but she wisely began her story, "I saw Darissa in the Spiral Temple, where the acolytes are trained. She was standing at the glass mirrors of Grenoa. I asked her if she wanted to speak with Master Azrael, but she said no. She didn't look at me at all. She just kept staring at her reflection in the mirror. I asked her if there was something wrong with the Third Kingdom that would require her to come to the temple. She stated, and I'm quoting her, 'There is always something wrong with the Third Kingdom. It's the Third Kingdom.'"

The angel paused in her story and reached into a small satchel at her belt. She drew a simple white bruised flower and held it on the palm of her hand. "She had this and was twirling it between her fingers. I asked her if she wanted to be to take a message to our master. Darissa finally looked at me and . . .  __ smiled!"  _ _ At this the angel looked disturbed.

"The horror of a smile." Death rolled his eyes.

"If you knew Darissa as we do, then her smiling is as rare as one of demon lords of Hell performing a selfless deed," Azrael commented, "Leriel, continue your story, please."

"Well, she looked at me and . . .smiled . . .then she tucked the flower behind my ear and said, 'Tell Azrael I quit.' Then she left. I quickly found our master and told him this story."

"Thank you, Leriel, you are dismissed. You are free to return to the temple, but alert me if Darissa should return or if you hear any news."

The young angel kicked off the floor with a gentle bend of the knees and disappeared over the balcony railing. Azrael looked graved, "We have to locate Darissa and convince her to return to her duties as soon as possible."

"And you have no way of knowing where she has gone?" Death was already soured to this mission.

"I have sent others to seek her out within the Angelic Realms. She's unique among our kind having black wings and hair so she isn't hard to find, but she's not in the Angelic Realms. She could be anywhere among the countless worlds."

"Surely you have some leads." Death didn't fancy the idea of combing world by world to find a misbegotten angel.

"She's likes snow." Azrael murmured thoughtfully. "She said in one of the few conversations we had. I would suggest that we look for her in a realm of snow and ice."

"We?" Death raised an eyebrow again. "I would travel faster alone."

"Death, I believe that if I could speak to her, I can convince her to retake her mantle or at least discover why she has abandoned it. You still don't understand what a shock this is to us all when she left her post. Darissa has always been dutiful in her role as an Angel of Death and has never uttered any complaint about it."

"Or I can do it the old fashion way of dragging her kicking and screaming back to Earth." The look that crossed through Azrael's eyes caught his curiosity. "What is it?"

"There is something you should know about Darissa. You see, she has a unique ability, a rare power that she calls Ghosting." Azrael shifted his shoulders as if in deep discomfort. "She can . . . go through solid objects at will."

"Any solid object?" Death did not like the sound of this. Not one bit.

"Any and all. Walls, floors, people, and," Azrael glanced at Harvester at Death's back, "weapons. If Darissa doesn't want you to touch her, then you cannot touch her at all."

"Damn."

 

 


	2. I Hate Them

It had been grueling work. Ten days and three worlds searched and nothing, not even one black feather. Azrael insisted that they search realms of snow or worlds having their winter season. Thus Despair waded through deepest snows while freezing winds punished them with lashes of ice and wetness. And all this is for something Darissa said in casual passing to Azrael.

The angel managed to keep up well enough. His robes, though thicker for the weather, kept the ice at bay and he had turned in the semi-circle of gold for a fur lined hood. His wings propelled him forward, though Death suspected that a small spell was helping to cut through the harsh winds.

Just as Death was ready to call it quits on this world, his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of ebony at the edge of a snowy slope. "There!"

And as the Archangel and the Horsemen approached, the shade disappeared over the edge. Death tossed Dust into the sky, "Follow it!"

Dust squawked as his feathers were tossed about by the wind, but the crow pushed forward. Whereas the winds would have knocked any ordinary bird out of the sky, Dust, who was no ordinary bird, was able to maintain his position in the sky and cut forward.

"Is it her?" Azrael called through the screech of ice on the wind.

"It better be!" Death growled as Despair pitched forward through a snow drift and over the slope.

The raven led them toward canyons of ice and Death saw the black spot of Dust dropped down into the nearest ravine. "It looks like we're climbing."

"We?" Azrael's wings snapped on the wind.

"I'm climbing, you're flying." Death growled under his breath.

It was nearly another hour of traversing the inner walls of the canyon. The ice had formed sharp icicles that Death had to maneuver carefully around and more than once, he had to kick off to the other side of the canyon to continue downward.

Then finally, they found a cavern nearly hidden by overhead ice patches. It was only a matter of dropping beneath the level of the cavern and climb up.

The first thing that Death noticed as he hauled himself inside was how warm it was inside. It was certainly at a comfortable temperature and Azrael pushed his hood back as he landed on the stone floor. "Darissa?"

"Here."

An angel of ebony wings stepped forward. She wore clothing that didn't fit the weather she was disposition toward. A long white dress with a golden belt around a slim waist and the top was held up by a gold metal necklet. The angel's black hair was long, hanging down past her hips. She regarded them with charcoal eyes and she looked as interested as if they were two unwanted flies in her home.

Perched at the bend of a wing was Dust and squawked a greeting toward his master and his companion. He looked comfortable having found a warm place after flying through freezing winds for so long.

"Darissa, child, we must talk." Azrael's relief flowed in his voice. He cast Death a look that said without words,  __ Let me speak. Say nothing. _ _

Death wasn't prone to wait, but he did see the wisdom in allowing Azrael to take the lead. If the angel could be convinced to return to her role without his intervention, then so be it. But if she refused, Harvest was ready at his waist. He whistled a low trill that echoed through the cavern and Dust with a reluctant caw, left his comfortable feathered perch of Darissa's wing and landed on Death's shoulder.

"You brought a Rider?" Darissa spoke in a monotone that revealed very little interest. "Forgive me, Rider, I would offer tea or refreshments, but I didn't bother to bring any with me."

"I never cared for tea." Death replied.

" __ Darissa,"  _ _ Azrael's voice held an edge that demanded her attention. "You have to return to the Third Kingdom. You're needed there."

"Yes, the Third Kingdom needs a lot of things," the dark angel said and Death could hear the note of bitterness in her tone.

"The souls are lost and cannot find their way to the Well of Souls. You have to lead them as you have vowed to do when you were chosen to serve as their Angel of Death."

"I remember my vow," Darissa replied. "I was proud to have been chosen."

"I was part of the council that chose you and you have done so well over the centuries, that I am proud that we made such an excellent choice." Azrael drew closer as he spoke. He was tall angel on foot, and Death was able to see that Darissa was also tall as well, nearly matching Azrael's height. "Without you, the souls are now wandering the Earth in the forms of ghosts and lost spirits."

"Yes, I know and I do apologize." Darissa folded her arms beneath her breasts.

"Good. The damage is very minute and it can easily be mended upon your return." Azrael again looked relieved that she was listening. "The High Council so far doesn't know of your abandonment. If you return quickly, then I can persuade them that you needed to rest from your duties and any punishment they deem necessary will be mild. That is if they feel it necessary to punish you."

"Lord Azrael, I am afraid that they will deem it necessary to severely punish me." Darissa straightened her shoulders, her wings flexing.

"And why is that, child?"

"I'm not going back. Not now, not ever." The angel stated as if it was a matter of fact. Sky is blue, water's wet, and she was not returning to Earth.

"Darissa!" Death had never seen the Archangel so shocked and outraged. "This is not a duty you can shirk as easily as a soiled cloak. Man is the Creator's chosen race! They were given Eden as the birth place of their race! To be their Angel of Death is an honor that many have sought and you,  __ you,  _ _ above all of them were chosen. It is integral to the Balance for Man's souls to be renewed in the Well of Souls! Think about what you are doing and how much untold damage you will cause by this childish action!"

The dark angel held a blank face, revealing no emotion under the tide of Azrael's outrage. When he finished, her stoic demeanor remained for a moment, her eyes studying the elder angel's face and then she spoke, "My Lord, because I do not care, does not mean I do not understand."

Then Azrael did something that Death never suspected the archangel was capable of. He struck her out of anger. He hand caught her pale cheek with a sharp crack of flesh that echoed throughout the chamber startling Dust who had been snoozing on Death's shoulder.

Despite her redden cheek, the dark angel looked as surprised as if Azrael had made a crude joke. Azrael clenched his fist as if offended by it and dropped it to his side. "I shouldn't have done that and you have my apologies, but the severity of your actions will have far reaching consequences that I do not believe you've grasped. Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do or say that can convince you to return to Earth?"

"No." Darissa, the dark Angel of Death shook her head.

"And why won't you return to Man's side?"

"Because I hate them."

The silence that followed was as thick as miasma. Death moved forward, his hands dropping to his hips where the hilts of Harvester hung.

"You're going to have to explain that for me." Azrael snowy eyebrows were raised in deep confusion.

"Forgive me, you wouldn't understand." Darissa waved a thin finger hand in dismissal.

"No, explain yourself. I want to know why an Angel of Death would feel it necessary to abandon her post." Azrael was nearly growling at her.

Death stepped against the way, his cadaverous flesh nearly camouflaging him against the stone wall.

"My Lord, you've never spent time on Earth, in fact, no other angel has been around the humans as much as I have. I have watched them since they took their first steps on the grassy knolls of Eden. I have watched them multiply and spread. I have watched them discover fire, tools, and form societies. At first, they were children who have first opened their eyes and saw the world." As Darissa spoke, Death moved along the wall, moving more silent than any shadow. "Then they took their discoveries and would commit the most horrid atrocities. They are little better than demons."

"Humanity is still a young race. No race is free from sin, not even our own." Azrael explained, he held out his hands beseechingly to her.

"I'm not blind, my Lord. I'm not. But the humans do it every day. Every. Day." She pronounced each word with a fervor that had been absent in her tone before. Her eyes were wide and strained with trauma that was settled into her soul. "Genocide, murder, rape, and most of it in the name of the Creator they claim to understand. The things they do to innocents, to children, are unspeakable. No, the Council neither Charred nor Angelic cannot punish me. It will be punishment enough to be sent back there."

Two arced blades crossed before her chest, the tips near her throat. Behind her, Death stood with his height taller than hers by a full head and shoulders. "Fair enough. Then the Charred Council won't have to bother with punishment."

"Darissa." Azrael looked nearly as old and tired at the Crowfather. His eyes were on the dark angel's face, pleading with her one last time. "If you go back quietly, I promise I will do what I can to help you. I can arrange for acolytes to help mitigate some of the work if that would make you feel better about it."

"Azrael, you have my deepest respect and if my actions have or will cause you any hardship, then that will be my one regret. However, I must very respectfully decline your most generous offer."

Before Death could flex the blades to cause her crippling wounds, the dark angel dropped. Her body fell through the solid floor as water through a thin cloth. The last the two beings saw of her was her face looking up at them, her blank reserve expression back on her face.

"Damn it." Death muttered.

  
  


 


	3. I Care Not

"That didn't go as well as I hoped." Azrael stated the obvious.

Death scowled at the floor at their feet where the pale face had disappeared. "Where would she have gone now?"

"I have no idea. Perhaps she went to another snow realm?" Azrael suggested as he drew his cloak around his shoulders. The warmth was leaving the cavern and his breath streamed from his lips in wisps.

"So we can search three more worlds and possibly find her only for her to dash away again? I think not. We need another plan." Death connected the scythes at his belt. "Is her ability limited? Can she breathe while she's phasing?"

"I do not know. It is a rare gift in Creation. You could count on one hand the number of beings that has possessed it in all of recorded history." Azrael replied in deep thought. "I can perform research in the libraries."

"Wouldn't any of her acquaintances know? Any family?" Death held out his wrist and Dust landed on it, looking ruffled, but none the worse for wear.

"Her father was killed in the Battle of Azural trying to halt the Nephilim incursions. When she was of age to be admitted to the Temple of Spirals, her mother washed her hands of her and as far as I know they never had any contact since." Azrael pulled his hood up over his head. "And as for any friends, there are those who are willing or curious enough to speak with her."

"Is she really that unpopular?" Death inquired.

"It's her coloring. It's very rare for an angel to be born with wings as dark as hers. Occasionally you get wings of shades of gray or even gold which are widely the norm." Azrael turned toward to the opening of the cavern where the eternal blizzard continued. "Many of our kind associate dark wings with those of the Fallen or Lost. When Darissa was born, it was when the Charred Council was new and any war between Above and Below was a breath away. If we had been a lesser race, Darissa would likely have been drowned hours after her birth, but since we are an immortal race and children are rare and precious, she lived, though I believe it was mostly due to the nursemaids who cared for her instead of her parents."

"Then why was she chosen as an Angel of Death for earth if her appearance carried such a social stigma?" Death asked watching the angel with amber eyes.

"Sincerely, Darissa was the best one for the role. Throughout her life, she has shown nothing but dedication to her studies and had always been prized student despite anyone's perceptions of her dark wings. Throughout her young life, there has been . . . been no problems."

"I heard a pause there." Death quirked an eyebrow beneath the bone of his mask.

"It's nothing, just foul rumors spread by the jealousy of youth." Azrael waved a hand in dismissal. "It's not worth mentioning."

"Tell me and I'll weight its worth for myself."

Azrael stared out into the snow for several minutes and just before Death's patience would end with a harsh retort, he spoke, "When Darissa was young there were rumors. Just rumors mind you, I doubt there is any serious credit behind them, of her having an illicit affair with a captain of the guard that handled security for the Spiral Temple. He was many centuries her senior and she were still young enough to be considered a ward of the Temple. It's possible that she may have harbored a childish infatuation with him, but harmless and I very much doubt that it went beyond that. He was promoted and he left the Temple and that was the end of it."

"And from the sad tale of Hadrimon and Raciel, I take it that such a union would have been illegal?" Death guessed as he paced about the cavern, his head turning this way and doubt while picking up on Azrael's every word.

"Oh, quite so." Azrael turned to back to the Rider. "Not only because they were separated by our caste system, but due to Darissa's youth. She was considered still a child and such a thing would have had the captain stripped of his position and depending on the mood of the ruling council, his manhood too. Our kind does not take kindly to any exploitation of children. It happened so long ago that I doubt it has anything to do with what is happening now."

"Should I remind you of a little event that occurred decades ago? I believe you were there. It involved a crazed heartbroken angel with weapons of mass destruction, his mad Maker sidekick, and my brother, you, and I barely beat them back from a vault full of nasty things? Oh, and the crazed angel's Lost Angel lover was there too by the way and she brought friends. It was a fun day for everyone." Death fixed Azrael with a hard look.

The archangel sighed rolling his white eyes, "Very well, I'll investigate it myself."

"Also question her acquaintances, or at least those you know chatted with her in the past."

"What will you do?"

"Find her. The cavern was warm when we first arrived. When she left, it became cold again." Death touched the floor, his fingertips brushing the freezing stone. "This isn't where she was living. There's no bonfire, cott, or anything to indicate that she stayed here. Which leads me to believe that she had a portal in here that she used to visit her precious snowfields, but it led to somewhere warm where it heated this cave. If I can find it, I may be able to reopen it and follow it back."

"The portal may be in the very stone itself, she can phase, remember." Azrael glanced at the walls as if suspecting them of holding hidden portals.

"Don't remember. That will be a hard trick to overcome. What about wards? Can she pass through them?" Death rapped a knuckle on the stone floor.

"Depends on the ward. I believe there may be a ward we could find that she can't pass, but she was a very good student. She would likely know how to disable them herself." Azrael touched a wall with long finger tips and then pressed his palm against it. "Here! It's warm!"

Death rose to his feet and walked across the tunnel. "Is it inside the wall?"

"Very likely. Stand back. I believe that I can move the portal forward the wall."

"Do it."

And so Azrael did. It took several minutes, but sure enough, the blue whorls moved and waved through the grey stone. When the portal was set into the wall, Azrael stood back, his power releasing the portal. "Death," Azrael inclined his head to the Rider as he approached the violet haze, "I've known Darissa since her wings were down and no longer than my hands. I believe-no, I know that she wouldn't abandon her duties without reason. I know you have your orders, but I request that when you handle her, do so as gently as possible and summon me so I can get the truth from her."

Death was quiet for a moment in contemplation, "When I do collect her, she'll be able to carry out her role."  __ As well as she can without her legs. _ _

As if Azrael could detect his inner thoughts, the angel furrow his snowy brows, "That's the best I can get from you, isn't it?"

"The best there is."

Thus Death leapt through the portal and found himself on a mountainous region. He stood atop of a rocky plateau where the wind was sweeping dust and pebbles at his boots. Dust fluttered above his head and he tilted his head upward and saw her.

She was sitting on the outcropping of rocks, her legs crossed with a sandal foot bobbing slightly as if to the beat of an unsung song. Dust obviously took a likely to the perch at the bend of her wing since he was already flying up to grasp it with his talons. He nearly blended in perfectly against the dark curvatures of her wings.

Death eyed the raven, noticing at it settled along the  __ solid  _ _ wing. "You didn't go far."

"I didn't think you would find the portal. I'll set it deeper into the wall next time." The dark angel uncrossed her legs, planting her feet firmly on the dusty rocks. "I take it that this is where you take action since talking hasn't changed my heart."

"I wouldn't say that." Death waved his hand, setting a boot up onto the bottom rock. "You understand that the Charred Council will not take kindly to your upsetting the Balance."

"I care not." The angel laced her fingers together at her knees.

"Oh, I would dearly care if I were you." Death glanced up at Dust who was preening his wing. "The Charred Council doesn't like to be defied. Trust me, I know. You're all by yourself. Heaven won't support your decision and you certainly know that Hell won't embrace an angel. You're all alone."

"I've been alone since before anyone cared to know my name. Being alone doesn't frighten me. Try again." She regarded him as he was as interesting as an ant dragging a crumb across the earth.

"You'll be punished . . . ."

"Let me guess." She pushed her feet forward, pointing her toes upward and her heels left grooves in the dirt. "The Charred Council could cast me into Oblivion, but they won't do that because there is no other to take my place, the same reason why Heaven won't cast me into Hell. They could lop off my wings as punishment, but sadly, that would hinder me in my duties. I certainly do have to fly far whenever Man decides to butcher a village or a city for having a different shade of skin or ideology. Unless they expect me to run. No, likely they'll have guards on me for the rest of my existence, where they will hurt me if I don't fulfill my job and keep me from fleeing. Or they could take my mind, use dark necromantic magic to have my body move as a marionette while my mind screams behind my eyes."

Death was quiet for several moments. "You've thought about this."

"Despite what Azrael, you, or anyone else might think, I didn't leave Earth on a whim." Darissa lifted her chin and spoke to him as if she was leading a discussion over tea. "I took time to think about the consequences and weighed them carefully and I still left. There were many times when I went, but turned back for fear of the punishments. Then it finally came to me that horrors I endure on Earth is a far cry worse than what is in stored for me away from it."

Again, Death's eyes flicked to Dust who was preening his other wing still sitting solidly on Darissa's wing. "Why don't you tell me about them?"

Darissa inclined her head, her withdrawn face peaking with interest. "About Earth?"

"Yes, come down here and we'll talk. Perhaps, I can speak to Council on your behalf." He held up a hand for her.

He might as well have been a dog that performed a new trick. A very unloved dog. She stared at him, considering, then she reached down and took his head and rose from her perch. Dust squawked as her wing spread, but he maintained his perch. Just as she moved to step off the upper ledge, his hand closed around her hand in a bruising fist and his other hand grasped her upper arm in a vicelike grip. He yanked her off the outcropping and threw her bodily toward the earth with enough force to break bones.

__ Let's see if she can phase unconscious. _ _

Instead of impacting the earth, she went through, taking his arm with her. He knelt on the rock with his arm in to the elbow. He flexed his wrist and yanked. It hurt, but with a sharp crack, he ripped his arm freeze of the hard surface and stood.

"She has Dust." He murmured as he looked to the sky.

Then he felt a squeeze at his boot. He looked down.

Between his legs was Darissa from the chest up. One arm held Dust against her breast and her other hand was on his boot. Poor Dust's eyes were wide and he was trembling. The dark angel glared up at the Rider with cold charcoal eyes, "That was very rude of you, Mr. Death."

Before he could utter one word, she drew him into the earth with her. His body dropped into the earth up to his shoulders. His body tingled and felt cold as if ice water was coursing through him. Then the feeling stopped and he was trapped in rock while a dark angel emerged from the rock to stand over him all the while holding Dust against her chest.

"I saw you looking at your pet while he was on my wing. Good hypothesis, but you forget to consider something."

__ Oh, Oblivion, this bitch was going to lecture him. _ _

"If I could only phase my body, then my clothes wouldn't follow and that would be very much embarrassing indeed." She drew her fingers along Dust's head, "I only have to touch something and keep contact with it to phase. Like this."

The bitch actually raised a foot and pressed the bottom of her sandal against his mask. He raised his arms in that moment when his body became intangible and fruitlessly attempted to grab her leg. His hands swept through her skirt and leg as it was an illusion and then he saw nothing but rock as she pushed his head under.

__ Damn. _ _

 

 


	4. I Was Tempted

It took only a skim through Spiral Temple records and Azrael had the name of the captain that Darissa was rumored to be infatuated with. Maion. He was now a leader of several squadrons and luckily enough he was on leave in the White City now. It only took a courier to arrange a meeting.

Meanwhile, he met with several of Darissa's acquaintances. Fortunately, Azrael had been able to keep Darissa's abandonment quiet for now, but there was no telling how long that would last. He told the angels he spoke with that Darissa has had some minor problems and the angels left it at that. They knew not to pry in a superior's business.

It was as he suspected, the majority of them believed as he did that she would find a home in the snowy realm if her calling hadn't been Earth. And none of them would have any reason to believe that she would ( hypothetically ) abandon her role. He might as well be carving a way through rock with a sewing needle for all the good it did him to interview them.

Then finally, his steward announced Maion's arrival. He gave permission to allow the soldier inside his office. The first thing that struck Azrael about the soldier was his coloring. His wings were the shade of a storm cloud promising generous rain. Though now black, but still darker than what is considered normal. Then Azrael felt doubt creep into his belief of Darissa's innocence of an affair. A lonely black winged angel would likely see solace in another of darken wings.

Maion wore light armor, more suitable for domestic life in the White City and his gray hair was pulled sharply from his face in a tight tail. He had a scar across the bridge of his nose and smaller scars marked his face as was common in seasoned warriors. Doubtless, there was more scarring under the armor. Despite the scars, he was handsome and doubtlessly more so centuries ago when he was younger.

"I trust your trip here was pleasant," Azrael greeted.

"I haven't been in this part of the White City since I was promoted. I enjoyed the nostalgia of coming back," Maion replied bowing to the Archangel. "I must say that I was surprised to receive a summons."

"There is a reason behind it and I request that this conversation stays private. It concerns Darissa." Azrael had been sitting at a large oak desk and he motion for Maion to claim a chair. "You were a captain of the guard here when she was a ward of the Temple."

Azrael watched his reaction, but Maion kept a stoic wall on his face. "Was she the one with the black wings?"

"Yes. She was a prized pupil, but unfortunately, she was still subject to rather ill-fitting rumors; rumors that concerned you as well." Azrael kept his wise eyes on Maion's face looking for any cracks, but there were none.

"And what sort of rumors?" Maion spoke with an even tone.

"That you shared an illicit affair."

"Well, that didn't happen." Again, no cracks in his expression.

Maion was skilled warrior and knew how to mask his emotions wells. And he isn't acting surprised or embarrassed. The doubt that had crept into Azrael's assumption was now stifling. He tapped his fingers on the desk surface, "Maion, let me remind you that this conversation is private. What is said in this office will never go beyond it. I am not looking to accuse you or have you arrested, but something has happened to Darissa and I am grasping at straws. The rumors that circulated about your relationship with her indicate that she had the closest relationship to you that she had ever had in her long life. If you want to help her or help me, then please, I want the truth no matter how sordid it may be."

The stoic look held, before it collapsed into a tired look. "I never touched that little girl."

"But something happened?" Azrael's eyebrows rose inquisitively.

The soldier pursed his lips where a small scar cut across the corner of his mouth. "Yes. But nothing that would require the attention of the guard."

"Tell me everything." Azrael leaned back in his high back chair preparing himself for whatever Maion's tale could entail.

"It's hard not to notice Darissa with her black wings and hair. Though young, she was lovely and mature. I've seen her in the hall and doubtless, she's seen me. Mind you, I never approached her. My interaction toward her never went beyond a courteous greeting in public." Maion began his story, his eyes glancing off into memory. "It started with letters. Small folded bits of paper slipped beneath my door. They didn't contain any poetry as you expect from any love letter. It was straightforward statements of affection and hopes for a future together."

"I see." Azrael set his elbow on the edge of the desk and set his chin against his fingers. "Did you know if they were from Darissa?"

"I didn't know at first. It could have been any of the young female students and I wasn't the only one to be on the receiver of such affections. It's common for young angels to seek passions with warriors, the libraries have shelves dedicated to such fancies. I didn't truly know who it was until one letter did carry a line of poetry.  _ _Our dark wings shall carry us forward to a future of love."__ Maion's grey wings flexed as working out a small cramp, the feathers dragged across the floor. "That's when I knew it was her."

"And what did you do?"

"Nothing." Maion shifted in his chair, his armor creaking softly. "I went about my business feeling that if I ignored it, it would stop on its own. Then late one night, she appeared in my bedchamber days later."

"By the Light." Azrael breathed. "Darissa!?"

"Yes, the very one. I'll never forget the look of her in that darkness. Her wings and hair blended so perfectly with the black night that her skin and dress glowed with the ambience of a candle. I was tempted, I must confess. There was temptation in my heart, but I held fast to my vows and I sent her away after giving her an earful of our positions with within Codex and how youth can sow mistakes as quickly as weeds. I was kind, but stern and she listened. There were no tears, no stuttering pleas for my affections. She accepted it as if I was a lecturing instructor. When she left, she did ask me one thing."

"And that was?"

"She asked if I was rejecting her because of her black wings and hair." A look passed through his eyes whether it was regret, shame, or even sadness, Azrael couldn't determine. "I told her that it wasn't so, but I do not think she believed me."

* * *

War furrowed his brows as the raven squawked. The raven had found him hunting demon spawn that had strayed too far into angel territory and had continuously squawked and even took swooping pecks at his hood and hair until he followed. He followed the dark bird into this realm of rocky mountainous ranges and atop of a plateau. Here Despair was standing in the center of the flat rock top with Dust perched on his head between his ears. His was dragging a hoof along the rock and from the scrapings it seems that the steed had been scratching at the rock for a while.

"Damn." War dropped from Ruin's back in a cloud of dust and the clank of his armor. He drew close to the scratched markings and raised his gauntlet up in a mighty fist and brought it down. Rock chips flew in all directions and the earth dented beneath his fist. When he withdrew, he could see a thick shoulder with an insignia carved into the skin. He seized the shoulder and pulled hard.

It took several more punches to the rock, but eventually, War was able to haul his brother from its tight embrace. Death coughed out chips of earth and dust that had gotten into his mouth and throat. He spoke in a jagged whisper while War pulled his legs free of the earth, "I'll kill her."

"Who are we killing this time?" War looked disdainfully at the hole. "And what happened?"

"Darissa, Earth's Angel of Death who decided she didn't like her job and left. The Council charged with me retrieving her and taking her back to earth, but she has this pesky ability of passing through solid matter that would make it impossible for me to throttle her." Death forced himself to move, though the soreness in his muscle protested. He mounted Despair easily as if he had not been cramped up in rock for hours.

"So that's how you were buried in rock without leaving a mark on the stone." War turned back to his own horse. "What's your plan?"

"I'm returning to Azrael and see what he has found out about her reasons for leaving and where she might be now."

"What does she look like?" War took up Ruin's reins in his clawed gauntlets. "If I see her, I can take her."

"No, don't try to grab her just send for me. If she doesn't want you to touch her, you can't."

"Ah, perhaps I should accompany you on your hunt. Next time she buries you, I can dig you out again."

"Damn you."

 


	5. I Raised Her

"My research has found nothing. I've spoken to everyone she has had contact since becoming an Angel of Death and even to the captain she had been fond of and nothing. She was a very private person, alas, too private." Azrael told Death later upon their meeting in the outpost library where he first informed Death of Darissa's rebellion. "Unfortunately, I believe that my inquiries have gained attention and the High Council is beginning to suspect something is amiss. What about your search?"

"I was so busy looking for her, I was buried in my duty to the Balance," Death replied dryly. "My brother has volunteer to look for her, but I ordered him to send word to me when if he locates her, not to make any attempt at taking her."

"And will he obey that order?"

"Only after several fail attempts at capturing her himself." Death knew his brother too well. "Which will be a good humbling experience for him, so I won't punish him for disobedience."

"Are you that confidant that he would fail?" Azrael quirked an eyebrow at the nephilim.

"I underestimated her. She not only has her ability, but she's also clever and knows exactly what she is doing. She thought this out a lot before she actually left the earth. A little warning about her ability to phase others wouldn't have been harmful." There was a sharp edge in Death's tone as his amber eyes narrowed at the archangel.

"I told you before. Very little is known about her ability." Azrael slapped a hand on the table surface he was standing near. "This is getting worrisome."

"Oh, it wasn't at the beginning?" Death tilted her head, his temple brushing against Dust feathers. The raven pecked at Death's hair before spreading his wings to keep his balance.

"I had imagined that speaking with Darissa would have resolved this issue before it became worse, but it seems that she is adamant about not returning. I simply do not believe that she left earth for the reason she told me. There has to be more behind it and if I can just find out what it is, then maybe we can resolve this without harming her."

"We're beyond that. She won't come back willingly, she made that apparent. If it takes crippling her, to bring her back, then that is what it will take."

Azrael's lips parted as if to utter a protest, but he closed his mouth, but the unhappiness was apparent in his face. "And how do you propose to do that? If she was any other angel, I can easily see it happening, but as I have said before and I'm certain that you have learned by now, you can't put a solid hand on her if she does not wish you to."

"She isn't intangible all the time. I'll sneak up on her and render her unconscious and take her back." Death knew just by saying it didn't make the actual deed any easier. Darissa knew he was seeking her and would take to hiding. "It would help to know where she is living. She can't simply be traveling about by herself."

"Of that I have no idea. She had always been seen on Earth or at the White City. She knows of nowhere else."

Just at the moment, a courier approached them. The courier was a young angel with shortly trimmed hair and wore a tunic of blue. The angel had a fair face and was of trim figure and Death had a hard time determining the angel's gender until the courier spoke. Male.

"Lord Azrael, I bring an inquiry from the High Council. Lady Darissa, the Third Kingdom's Angel of Death was sighted in Grimoria after an encounter with the Rider of the Red Horse. They request your presence."

"Damn it." Even Death was surprised at the oath uttered by the archangel. To the courier he said, "Tell them I cannot answer their summons at this time, but I will tomorrow."

"Forgive me, but they stressed that it was urgent that you return to the White City. Immediately."

"You heard me." Azrael's deep tone was harsh.

"Yes my Lord." The angel disappeared over the rail they way he came.

The angel wasn't gone for one second before Death rounded on Azrael, "Tell me about the relationship between you and Darissa? It goes beyond simple comrades as Angels of Death, doesn't it?"

Azrael glared back at the amber eye nephilim, "And what makes you say that?"

"This concern that you have for her hangs in the air as a foul odor," Death replied evenly. "It means nothing to me if the High Council gets involved, but you have done everything from keeping them in the dark to delaying them by a day. What is this dark angel to you? A lover?"

Disgust crossed Azrael's face as he eyed the Rider as if he had just insulted him. "I raised her, Rider. Her mother was so eager to be rid of an unwanted dark winged child; the woman abandoned the child at the Temple when she was only a few years old. Because of the darkness of her then fluffy wings and hair at the time, none of the instructors wanted to take her as a charge. It fell to me as the head of the Temple to take her as my ward."

__ Azrael, you have my deepest respect and if my actions have or will cause you any hardship, then that will be my one regret. _ _

The entire encounter with Darissa wasn't a superior ordering a subordinate back to a post. It was a father pleading with a daughter to return to her duties. And the way he defended Darissa when the rumor of her indiscretions was brought up, was a father insisting upon the innocence of a beloved daughter. This was far more personal for the archangel than Death ever expected.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Death muttered feeling great distaste for this mission than ever before.

"Because I did not believe it was important." Azrael looked older and tired as he spoke and for the first time Death could see the grief in his eyes. "I cared for her until she was old enough to care for herself which was a less than a decade. So much was happening then between the Charred Council, Heaven, and Hell, that the welfare of a single angelic child wasn't considered important that it went ignored."

"Was it your relationship to you that got her position?"

"No," Azrael growled at him a fist clenching. "I would never put someone's name forward that I didn't believe could uphold the role sufficiently. Secondly, it wasn't me who put her name forward for the role. That was Freniel, the head of the Eldritch Corps."

The Eldritch Corps was the combination of soldiers with magical skill that rivals the followers of the Spiral Temple. In other words, they were Mage Soldiers. They were a fairly new military branch since the war with Hell, but the branch had established itself well within Heaven's broad military.

"I'm not familiar with Freniel." Death commented touching his chin thoughtfully.

"No, I don't believe you'd have much contact with him. He was a low soldier during the inception of the Charred Council, but he has risen over the eons combining magic with combat and creating his own branch."

"Sounds like a genius. As much fun as it is to turn over secrets that were better left shared, I must go see what has become of my brother after his little encounter with Darissa."

* * *

In Grimoria, Death found War at the bottom of a cliff. Dust had circled the area and led Dust to the canyon where he had spent the next several hours climbing down. At the bottom of the canyon, lying in a crater that could fit an elephant was War laying sprawled with Ruin standing at the edge.

Death slipped into the creator, leaning back on his legs as he slid down. "War?"

"She's a bitch," was the hard reply and that brought a relief that Death would never voice.

"What happened?"

* * *

__ War had searched the planes of Grimoria before he saw a dark shade in distance. He flicked the reins of Ruin and the steed galloped forth bringing the Rider to a closer view of the shape. And certainly enough, it was an angel with dark wings flying. _ _

__ The angel had stopped her flight and hovered on gentle bobs of her wings as she studied the newcomer with the interest if he was a new beetle that had crawled across a laden dinner table. "Another one? I'll give you the answer I gave your comrade. I will not go back and I fail to see how you can force the issue." _ _

" __ Then I won't brother with asking." War drew Chaoseater from his back. _ _

__ Thus the chase began. Darissa, the dark angel fled on wings of ebony while Ruin thundered below. A charging ruin with Chaoseater brandishing war was a fearsome sight to behold and the inhabitants of Grimoria fled before them. A canyon lay before them and where the angel easily flew across, Ruin performed a mighty leap across that any lesser horse would never succeed. _ _

__ And just as War was drawing his boots upon Ruin's saddle to make a flying jump that would enable him to grab her, the angel did something he never predicted. She turned around and charged at him as a missile. _ _

__ Her wings flex to reduce wing resistance, her skirt flapping at her legs and dark hair flapping behind her as a sail in a storm, she smashed into his chest and then both Rider and Angel went through the galloping horse and into the earth. _ _

__ She phased him through at a slant, that when they both emerged, they came forth from the interior of the cliff they had crossed. War made many attempts at grabbing her, but his huge gauntlet passed through her as if she were a ghost. She brought her feet up to kick off his chest solidifying him and spread her wings to slow her descent. _ _

__ War thrust Chaoseater into the rock wall, leaving a line of splintered rock as he attempted to halt his fall. He gritted his teeth as he grasped at the rock with his large gauntlet as he would begin his slow climb back to the top. _ _

__ That is until he was grabbed from behind and both sword and gauntlet was phased away from the wall. She was behind him, pulling him back by the shoulders, causing him to resume his plummet. He called her many foul names in both demon and Maker tongues and that was likely the reason why she did what she did next. _ _

__ A ball of solar light collected in one hand, a small spell meant to light up caverns and tunnels for mining or exploration. She smashed this ball into his face, sending all the light into his eyes blinding him. With a roar of rage and pain as his retinas burned, War slashed at her with Chaoseater and he could feel the weapon's frustration as it passed through her without cleaving flesh or drawing a drop of blood. He felt the same frustration himself. _ _

__ Then he met the ground. _ _

* * *

"I take it you have no idea of which direction she went?" Death inquired once the story was told.

"If I knew, I would be heading in the same direction after her." War's eyes were slowly repairing themselves and he was able to speak toward Death's direction.

"I told you to send for me if you saw her. Not try to take her." Death's voice was void of any actual anger.

"She's bold, I'll give her that much. I take it that you have a plan now." War was reclined against the wall, at the edge of the crater.

"I do, but it won't be to your tastes. A sneak attack when she's not expecting it."

War snorted his disdain for the plan, but even he could see the logic behind it, not that he would voice it. "And then?"

"I take her back to the White City and hopefully Azrael will have a way to keep her entrapped."

"The White City is still hostile towards us for what happened to their sacrament bomb and seeing you gallop up with one of their females bound and unconscious will not end well."

Death leaned against the opposite wall, a hand resting on the Harvester's hilt. "I imagine that after a day, they won't be surprised to see her arrested by me. They still don't know about her abandoning her duties, but they have heard of her encounter with you so they suspect something. Azrael, the old fool, wants to have this resolved before they take action. He fostered her when she was young."

"Then would he know why she's here in Grimoria? Do you know that there is an enclave of Lost Angels here?"

Death clenched his hand around Harvester. "No. I did not know that."

"I've had dealings with them before. They've dealt with Hell factions, but they mostly keep themselves neutral, but they hire themselves out as mercenaries."

Death knew the answer to his question before he asked it, "Was she flying toward their general direction when you saw her?"

"Yes."

"Damn!"

 

 


	6. I Wanted to Feel Something

It was by the world's sunset that he found her again.

War came with him once his eyes had repaired themselves. Once they came to the edge of the enclave set in the Cliffside overlooking a dark sea. The waves crashed beneath an abandoned Maker fortress set into the cliff wall. War, not possessing the climbing skills of Death, stayed behind with the horses. His displeasure with staying behind hung around him as smog while Death departed scaling the cliff face.

Fortunately, he found her before having to enter the fortress, but she wasn't alone. He saw a slip of winged feathers disappear into a tunnel cut into the rock up above. He clung to the rock and softly whistled for Dust who disappeared into the tunnel.

A few moments later, he climbed into the tunnel and staying close to the wall he made his way. The tunnel had carved reliefs along the walls depicting Maker history that Death didn't really care about at the moment. His concentration was on what lay on at the end of the tunnel.

It opened up into dusk light, revealing an overgrown garden with crumbling marble pillars and benches. She was there with another angel, a warrior wearing armor lacking the decorations that angels seemed to favor. Whereas Darissa's wings were of a lovely black that complimented the night, his wings were as black as demon's blood peppered with white feathers the last remnant of his Heavenly allegiance.

Darissa sat at the edge of what had been a fountain, but the water had long ago drained leaving behind dry cracked stone. Kneeling before her, a leather gloved hand stroking the back of her leg, his eyes were probably on her face, but Death had his doubts about that. The Lost Angel slipped off her sandal setting it aside the other sandal by his knee and began unclipping the armor at his torso.

Did she come all this way to see a lover? How could she meet him if she never left Earth or the White City?

Death slipped around the corner, becoming one with overgrown crush. Any being with lesser stealth skills then Death would have stepped on a dried vine or rustled the bushes, but the Rider moved with the skill of a shadow, maneuvering around the fountain. If Darissa saw him then he would lose her.

The Lost Angel was handsome with a sharp nose and broad face and Darissa was admiring his bare waist with her eyes and hands. The Lost Angel spread his wings wide in arousal shielding Darissa's peripheral vision giving Death the chance to cross an opening in the brush.

He found broken cobble pieces which could serve as throwing stones. One smack across the temple would surely knock her unconscious or stun her enough for him to make it so. He could dispatch with her lover and that would finally be the end of this sordid affair. He lifted one between his long fingers and took aim.

At this moment, Darissa was sitting with her eyes closed and face flushed as her lover had a hand under her skirt and was doing delicious things to her. Her wings were folded behind her back and his were lowered behind him. Death had a clean view and he flung the rock.

Things happened that foiled his plan. At that moment, the Lost Angel decided that he had enough of foreplay and he had seized Darissa by the hips jerking her forward. She lay back on the stone as his upper body came up to cover hers bringing his head in the path of the flying stone. Death uttered several curses in demonic language as the stone connected with the wrong target felling him.

Darissa blinked. Her supposed lover was sprawled atop of her and she lifted her head, "But we haven't done anything yet."

As if sensing his presence she turned her head and saw him. She sunk into the fountain, leaving her would be paramour to lie on the stone.

"Come out, Darissa. Let's talk about this." Where was she? He kept glancing at his feet lest he see her hand reach up to ensnare him. The woman was by far weaker than him possessing no combat skill and yet he was on guard against her. It burned his pride.

"Talk? The last time you wanted to speak with me, you tried to throw me to the ground as some vile rapist." Her head and shoulders rose up from the earth as if she was wading in water. Her face was still flush, though he believed it was from anger instead of arousal. It was about time he saw emotion cross her usual blank face.

"When did you join this group?" Death knew it was useless to threaten her with Harvester so he left the dual scythes at his belt.

"I never joined them. I only just met them. Or just him." She motioned to the fallen paramour.

"Oh, so you came all this way for the taste of man flesh." Death asked with his usual sarcasm.

"Yes." Darissa replied without hesitation. "I had the proverbial itch that I wanted to scratch."

Death blinked. "Seriously? You came all this way to this fortress just to . . . to do this!? Who is he?"

"I don't know. I never asked for his name." Darissa furrowed her white brow at him. "Is it so hard to believe that a woman would have the same urges as a man? That she wouldn't be interested in something short and physical or was it that you didn't think that of me? If that's that the case, I thank you for your opinion of me and I am so sorry to disappoint you."

Putting aside the fact that Darissa came to the Lost Angel enclave as if it was a brothel, Death changed his tactics, "Azrael has to report your actions to the High Council tomorrow."

Her anger faded to its usual emptiness of emotion. "I know that he would eventually have to report me. And I have apologized for any hardship he would face on my behalf."

Death approached her and she stayed continuing to tread the earth as if it was water. He dropped to one knee to speak closer, "Darissa, stop this game. For his sake if not for your own."

"No."

"Why? Why do this? What is there to gain?"

"Nothing," Darissa murmured.

"You are making enemies, girl, of the Charred Council, Heaven, my brother and me. Eventually, we'll take you and you will be subjected to the harshest punishments. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes. Until then, I will enjoy myself for as long as possible."

He clenched a fist and wanted nothing more than to hit her. To smash that blank expression from her face, that acceptance of a fate that she had brought about herself. "Tell me why."

"I came here because I wanted to feel something. I don't feel anything most of the time. I had thought being loved, even though only physically, would spark something in me that would make me care about my fate."

Death was silent for several minutes watching her emotionally detached face, "I mean why leave Earth."

She stared up into his mask that hid his face. "Do you wear a mask to hide your shame and regret? To keep from facing something that you rather not face or see? Yourself, the murderer of your race? Yourself, the one who took part in the death of billions? We all have something we rather not face. I can run from mine, but you can't run from your face. You can only cover it up and hide it away."

His voice was low, one would dare call soft. "What happened on Earth?"

"It became too much." And that was all she would say. She disappeared, as quickly as a startled goldfish in a pool.

* * *

"Wake up!" Death had no water to douse him in, but he made use of a backhand swing.

The back of his hand caught the Lost Angel across the cheek, finally bringing him around. The angel stared at him with unfocused pale eyes and Death gave him a moment to focus. When the Lost Angel was able to make out his features, he uttered a row of curses that could crumble the stone at his back.

"I'm sure you were expecting to wake up to a more pleasant sight." Death shoved him harshly at the shoulder causing the angel to knock his head against the wall. "I have questions and you don't need me to explain what I'll do if you refuse."

"Fuck you." The angel glared at him, his eyes scanned the ground.

"I tossed the weapons off the cliff. Don't bother looking for them. What do you know of the angel you were with?"

"I don't know who the Abyss she was. She approached me and said she wanted to talk."

"And I would know what you talked about. Did she mention Earth?" Death was on one knee, a hand on the angel's neck and the other on Harvester's hilt, the threat apparent.

"No, she didn't talk about herself. I talked, she listened." The Lost Angel eyed Death's weapon warily decided that being generous with information would be wise. "I told her about my time in the military, before I was . . . 'requested to leave' . . . I told her about my services in the Eldritch Corps under Lord Freniel and she became cold and said she didn't want to hear about him."

Something clicked together. "Lord Freniel. Did she say anything about him?"

"No, I tell you, she barely spoke. She asked me to take her somewhere private so I brought her here." Then the angel became stupid and bold. A bad combination. "She was soft, Horseman. Her mouth tasted of sweet wine and between her legs she was wet for my touch . . ."

Death simply dashed the angel's head against the rock, not even absorbing anything the angel had sneered. The angel sagged into unconsciousness where he would later wake up with a horrible headache. Death stood and left deep in thought.

* * *

When he returned, War was still mounted waiting stoically as any statue. "Did you find her?"

"Yes and as you can see, I failed to bring her back. He mounted Despair who nicker a ghostly greeting . "We're changing tactics. You keep searching for her, but keep your distance. I'm going to Earth."

"Why?" War rugged on the reins as Death urged Despair onward. The mounts left the cliff at steady trot that allowed the Horsemen to chat side by side.

"Because we're not getting anywhere like this. She left Earth for a reason. Something happened," Death replied. "If I can find out what that was, then we might convince her to go back."

War's displeasure presented itself in the tightening of his lips and the further narrowing of his eyes. "So we placate her?"

Death halted Despair, twisting his head to face his brother. "Let's hear it. If you have a better plan, then by all means, let's hear your plan."

War's steed halted, fiery hooves stomping the earth. "She's threatening the Balance in breaking vows that she, herself swore. So we play into her whims, as if she was a spoiled child demanding a treat."

"We can't touch her. We can't grab her or hurt her," Death said in an even tone while his eyes glowed hotly behind his mask. "And she's not a stupid or a power craving demon or an insane angel. I've spoken with her, War. She knows what she's doing and she knows what fate awaits her if we should manage to capture her. And she  __ accepts  _ _ it and doesn't expect to come out of this in one piece. We've never dealt with anything like her so the old ways of our finding the culprit and either beating it senseless or killing it won't work this time. So we have to do this differently. If you have a different idea, then please share, if not then  __ stay silent." _ _

War stared back into the heated gaze with his icy eyes. "This has become more than completing a mission for you."

"Maybe I want to see something that doesn't end in blood, damn it.”

 

 


	7. I Am Tired

Angel children never needed their parents for long. By the age of 16 to 18, an angel though young is capable of caring for themselves. And less than two decades is barely a breath to an immortal race such as them.

Azrael had never had any children before. There was never time in his busy schedule as Guardian of the Well of Souls and as a scholar. He took Darissa in because quite simply there was no one else to take her in. He'd like to think he did the best he could juggling his duties and her care. However, he simply wished that he had done things differently.

He stood at the window of the library he had been holding his meets with Death. The rain was lashing the window in waves. The weather matched his mood as he remembered back on his failures as a father.

Wish that he had given her more of his time and understood her pain more.

* * *

 

He had been in his chambers that night when Darissa doused herself in bleach when she was five.

The smell touched his nose while he was writing his tome. He lifted his head sniffing the air as he rose to his feet. His servant, Mariel, had departed for the evening and it was only him and Darissa whom he had last saw playing in her room hours ago. He left his study and as he made his way through his home, the smell became stronger and stronger.

His eyes were watering by the time he flew up to the second level. He heard the rush of water coming from his lavatory. "Darissa?"

There was silence save for the dripping of liquid. He touched the door handle and it resisted his touch. "Darissa, are you in there?"

"No," came the small reply from behind the door.

"What are you doing?" He grasped the handle and rattled it.

"Taking a bath."

"Mariel already gave you a bath for tonight." Azrael wiped his eyes, the strong smell was overwhelming. "Open this door."

"Inna minute." More water splashed and the smell became stronger.

"Now, Darissa. If I have to open this door myself, you will be punished."

"Inna minute!"

It took only a minor deteriorating spell at the wood around the lock and he was able to thrust it open. Doing so threw the odor against him as a tidal wave. He coughed, hand over his mouth and nose as he focused on the brass basin where his foster daughter was sitting nude tilting a bottle of bleach over her shoulder wetting her furry wing.

"Darissa!" He roared as he lunged forward. Her skin was mottled in pink splotches where the chemical was burning her skin. Even as he snatched the bleach bottle from her hands, some of it splashed across his fingers making them tingle. He turned on the overhead shower rinsing the bleach off her body. "What have you done, child?"

She didn't reply, but covered her eyes as the water washed over her dark tresses. He lifted her out and collected her into a thick towel and carried her to her room. Azrael laid her down on the bed and looked over her body and grimaced as the pink burns, "Darissa, stay here. I'm going down to get medicine."

He owned a cabinet downstairs that contained medicines and arcane brews that he had stored away. When he returned, the child was crying, the heels of her hands over her eyes as her small chest thrust with each sob. He whispered soft comforts to her as he spread the medicinal cream over her burns. The medicine was provided by their highest healers and he knew within minutes, the skin would completely heal, until then, he was certain it hurt.

When he was finished, more than half her body covered in a thin layer of the white cream, he examined her wings. It was years before the fuzz gave way to feathers, but now it looked frazzled and yellow to a dark greyish. Darissa had stopped crying and lay on her side as he examined her wings.

"You took the bleach from Mariel's laundry." Azrael stated, already recognizing the bottles.

"Hmn," was her reply.

"The bleach is meant for clothes. Not wings or hair. It was never meant to be touched by bare skin," Azrael murmured as he turned his attention away from her wing, "You could have seriously injured yourself. If you had gotten any of it in your eyes, you would be blind."

He stood up to retrieve a night gown for her and helped her dress. He chose one that was a size too big for her, likely Marciel planning for the girl to grown into it. It wouldn't constrict against her skin as a fitting one would. The tips of her hair had been touched but the bleach and were brittle. Marciel would have to give her a trim tomorrow. By the time he had finished preparing Darissa for bed, the smell from the bathroom was spreading along the second level.

He gathered her to his chest. Her small arms wrapped around his neck and he carried her out of her room and flew up to the third level where his bedchamber lay. "You're going to sleep in my room for tonight. At least until the lavatory airs out."

She looked so small tucked beneath the thick blankets of his bed that he rarely used. He brushed her hair away from her face and even kissed her forehead before leaving her to sleep.

There was so much he should have said to her then. To tell her it was alright to have black wings and hair. How he thought she was precious with them. That she needn't hurt herself to making herself acceptable to everyone's views of what is normal. He should have stayed with her that night instead of hiding her away in his chamber and returning to his work.

* * *

 

He counted his failures and they numbered higher than the falling rain outside.

"Your mood is spreading to the weather, old scholar." The Rider had come back.

"Did you find her?" Azrael's voice usual strong baritone was weak.

Death was quiet for a moment as he approached the angel. The library was hushed with the steady trimmer of whispers and the soft turning of pages from below. "Yes, but she escaped again."

A dry chuckle shook loose from the angel's throat. "She's defied two Riders, escaping them three times. I don't know whether to take pride or shame in her."

"I would recommend pride. It's not every day that I am forced to change my tactics," Death muttered. "Firstly, what can you tell me about Freniel?"

"Freniel? Other than what I already told you, he used to be a student of the Spiral Temple. Then he took up the sword and created the Eldritch Corps."

"Did he have any contact with Darissa?" Death leaned against the edge of the table his arms crossed over his bare chest.

"No, I do not believe so."

"But he put her name forward as the Angel of Death for Earth. Why would he do that if they didn't know each other."

Azrael touched his chin, his thumb rubbing over the tuft of beard at his chin. "I imagined that he had read her credentials and were impressed by them."

"Let me ask another question. Has he ever gone to Earth?"

Azrael blinked, taken aback by the question. "I don't know. It's possible; travel to Earth isn't restricted for someone of his status." Then Azrael's voice took on a hard tone, "Does he have something to do with Darissa's abandonment?"

"I don't know. His name was brought up to her by a Lost Angel and she went cold. It's slim, I know, but this whole thing started on Earth. Could you find out where on Earth that he goes to? The last time I was there, humanity had colonized most of it."

"What in the Light would she be doing with a Lost Angel?" Azrael asked incredulous.

"She was lonely and wanted to sow her passions with a man before the inevitability of her punishment consumed her," Death said simply not thinking about that the angel he spoke to was the girl's foster father.

Azrael's jaw dropped and it was several moments before he could come around to respond to Death's earlier question. "I could look into it, but not without bringing it to his attention."

Death glanced away thoughtfully, "Have you made your report of Darissa to the High Council?"

"Not yet. It's something I've been trying to postpone as long as possible."

"Go ahead and do so. It'll free up your hands and you can investigate visits to Earth. Look into other visits as well, not just Freniel's."

"The High Council will send their men out to arrest her." Azrael pursed his lips, his brows furrowing. "Even if we manage to convince her to come back, they will still see it necessary to punish her."

"If my suspicions are correct, that this Freniel has something to do with Darissa leaving her post, then any punishment they dictate should be mild." Death stood straight, "I want a serpent hole open to Darissa's home on earth. While you are handling the High Council and investigating Freniel, I can at least search her home and see if there are any leads there."

* * *

 

Her legs dangled in the cold water, skirt rolled up to her knees. The garden was abandoned as many of the ruins on this world she arrived in. She had forgotten what the race looked like, but they certainly had an eye for beauty. In the center of this garden was a pool where fish still lived and breed.

She dropped a black feather and watched it float. A curious fish nibbled on it and then dragged it under. The black feather faded into the depths, disappearing into the blackness.

Would her fade be as quick or as peaceful as being drowned down by a fish? Or will it be pain with the bite of a blade and blood coursing down her body? Perhaps it would be better to surrender herself to the Riders and end this game? But then, the game would end, but not her pain.

She drew a fingertip along the petal of a lily that floated near her. Yes, this would be a good place to die. On her terms, by her own hands.

"I am tired," she said to no one and to everything.

* * *

 

Darissa's home was, no surprised, on a snowy mountain. It was within an abandoned temple that the humans had likely worshiped their ideal of the Creator before either war or nature drove them away from the village below. From the outside, it looked cracked and ruined as if it would soon break away from the mountain.

Death climbed the small steps into the temple taking them three at a time. The candles were old and melted along the edges of the wide dais, and when he pushed open the double doors, warmth spread across his body and inside he saw a home.

The floor was clean and carpeted. And the furniture was mismatched. Death wasn't familiar about humanity various cultures, but he was able to recognize that the small table on the floor had small carvings in it from the South Eastern part of this continent and the bed was of gold with carved animals that was popular in the lands of the hot deserts to the south west. It seemed that whatever she liked, she collected it as furnishing for her home.

He moved about her home and could tell she hadn't been here for a long time. The flowers were wilting in their vases, various species from all over Earth. It seemed that she was a collector.

Death approached the area she used as a bedroom and saw a lot shelf where items were arrange. A painting of a water lily, a precious stone, and at the end of the shelf was a crude clay figure. It was round with small arms carved into it and a round head without any facial features. What drew his attention was that it had rough black wings protruding from the back and hair made of black strips of leather was pressed into the head.

There was too much resemblance for it to be a coincidence. A human made this, maybe a human child. No other race would create something so crudely from the earth. He held it and turned it between his fingers studying it.

Dust sat perched on his shoulder and offered his comment in a squawk.

"This means something." He set the clay figure on the shelf. "But what it means, I don't know. Damn."


	8. I Have Less Time

The Charred Council was losing its patience. The influx of the dead from Earth had ceased without souls being renewed, and then humanity would see a decline of live births along with the lost spirits. And Death's visit to the earth was just as displeasing to them as his apparent failure in reigning in an Angel of Death.

Strife was assigned to the task of retrieving the angel along with War. Death would be permitted to continue his investigation on Earth, but there had better be results.

Fury would handle other assignments until this matter was resolved.

"Figures, you and Death can't handle a woman." Strife being his usual loving self sneered at War as they departed the Charred Council chamber.

War said nothing, but his jaw tightened as they descended the soot covered stairs.

"You distract her and I'll shoot her. Easy."

"We cannot kill her," War replied grimly.

"I'll shoot through the base of the wing. An angel is nothing with its wings. Once she's grounded we'll take the bitch to the White City and let her be their problem."

"If it was that simple, then Death and I would have already been done with this assignment." When they reached the bottom of the stairs, War summoned Ruin who came to him in a blaze of fire.

Strife's own steed came to him in a gust of wind. The horse looked normal as any horse, save for the dark whorls of wind for a mane and tail. Strife mounted his steed and towed it around with leather reins. "And why has Death abandoned the search?"

"He hasn't abandoned anything," War replied dryly. "He is performing his own investigation into this matter while we do ours. And I would ask you to stop discussing the failures of others when yours number higher than theirs."

"Bastard."

 

* * *

 

Death didn't find much else in Darissa's home. One thing he did discover that she also liked wind chimes. They were strung up along the edges of the roof and they sang their high songs for him at each gust of wind.

Just before he believed that chimes would drive him mad, Azrael finally arrived. From the lines in the angel's face, Death could guess that his report to the High Council did not go well.

"Abbadon is arranging a hunting party for her," Azrael murmured in a dry tone. "They requested that I step down from my investigations because of my relationship with her, but I insisted that it was part of my duties as the Head of the Spiral Temple that I take part. They relented, but eyes are on me as well."

"What was Freniel's reaction to the news?" Death had lingered too long in that temple home and was eager to move forward.

"Outrage as the others and stated that he feared for the Balance." Azrael looked about the home, this being his first visit to his foster daughter's home. "We had an interesting conversation after the meeting."

* * *

 

"A shame about Darissa."

Azrael turned to see the younger angel approaching him. Freniel was a tall angel, nearly matching Azrael's height. His armor was gold and held the relief of an angelic saint on his torso armor. He was a handsome man with sharp features and his silvery hair cropped short.

They were standing outside of the High Council chambers. Azrael regarded the angel with caution. "It is a tragedy that something compelled her to abandon her post."

There was no change on the angel's face. He tilted his head and gave Azrael an irritating pitying smile, "I remember when she was a child. A very adorable little girl with black wings."

"Yes, and a talented student as well." Azrael reminded him. "You nominated her for the role."

"That I did." Freniel shrugged his shoulders. "Looking back on it now, it might have been a mistake."

Azrael ignored that last comment and asked, "Did you ever see her during your sojourns to Earth?"

"Yes, sometimes. When my business took me to areas of where she was active."

"And what sort of business would take you to Earth?"

It was only a moment, and if Azrael's eyes weren't as sharp he would have missed Freniel's face falter for not even a heartbeat before it resumed a blank face. "You know, the usual. Making sure the Hellborn don't have a foothold in the Third Kingdom or influence it. The humans certainly seem intrigued with them since you often see them create contracts. In fact, humans are very intrigued with anything not of their world."

"The same could be said for all young races, Lord Freniel." Azrael replied. "And for ours as well."

"Ah, so true. So true." Freniel admitted. "I hope this situation resolves itself peacefully by Darissa coming to her senses and returning to Earth."

"I'm certain that once we find the cause of her flight, we can convince her to return."

Freniel blinked his eyes several times, his smile never faltering. "Keep us up to date on what you find out. No matter how small or inconsequential."

* * *

 

 

"I swear to you, he knows something. It was in his eyes though he hid it well." Azrael clenched a fist, looking as if he was willing to punch the subject if he was present.

"Do you know where he frequents?" Death was eager to see what lay at the end of his search.

"It took a while, but I managed to discover that he visits cities in the south, one particular city has his attentions. A city called Sodom. Other times another city called Gomorrah."

Death pushed away from the wall, nearly startling Dust who had been perching on his shoulder. "I'll start in Sodom."

"Death, what will you do if Sodom or Gomorrah turns up nothing? We have no other leads to follow and Darissa is running out of time. I appreciate the length you are going to help her . . ."

"Help her? I'm not helping her. I am doing this to be done with this mess once and for all." Death headed for the double doors, his large hands thrusting them open into the snowy wind.

* * *

 

Yet again, Darissa outmaneuvered the Riders.

This time they had found her standing at the edge of a beach on an aquatic world on whose race hasn't developed to sentience yet. Certainly, it started with Strife shooting before War could stop him. The dark angel having heard the shot instantly went intangible. The bullet passed harmlessly through her ebony wings and she turned to the cliff face of which they stood and shook her head. Then she dashed into the rock face they stood upon.

"Watch your feet!" War shouted.

"Why?" Strife uttered and then two hands rose from the earth catching his feet and drawing him down. His descent halted just before his shoulders and head would disappear. This was followed by all the curses in the demon and Maker tongue that he knew. And some that he invented on the spot.

War brandished Chaoseater harsh eyes glinting as he studied the ground. Then he felt a touch at his back so light, he barely registered it. Thin arms curled around his neck, not choking, but in a loving embrace. He knew it was her. There was no need to crane his head to see or even wait for her to speak. It was the bitch sure enough.

"I'm getting bored with this game," Darissa murmured through his hood and into his ear. She was solid now as he could feel her weight, light as a feather against his back. He was taller than her, so her feet couldn't touch the ground, but her hovered behind him as easily as if she was flying.

"This isn't a game, girl," he muttered as he raised a gauntlet to her wrist at his shoulder.

"You can't touch me." Darissa gently reminded him.

He paused, his gauntlet hand inches from hers. "If I could, I would tear you apart."

"I know." She whispered. During this exchange, Strife was roaring his rage in peals of curses. War wanted to tell his elder brother to be silent, but he feared in taking his attention away from Darissa she would disappear, slipping away as an elusive shadow. "You should bring your other brother. He's rude, but more pleasant this this one."

War silently agreed, but would never voice it to her. "My brother has gone to Earth to find the cause of your abandonment. What will he find, I wonder?"

Darissa stayed silent.

"What secrets of yours will he turn over? What secrets could he find that would give you reason to break the vows and oaths you swore to the Balance eons ago?" The heat in War's voice matched the wrath he felt toward an oath breaker such as her. "When the Charred Council have you, then you will wish for the security that your vows bought, but none will move to aid you, not Heaven, not Hell, not the Makers, no one wil . . . ." He broke off into silence as air gently blew across his ear. Did she just . . .?

"Don't threaten." Her words blew into his ear, "It's not nice."

To the pits with this. She could bury him far below the planet's crust and into its hot center before he would allow her to humiliate him further. Before he could reach for her, the sound of her soft gasp was followed by a thick grunt from him.

He looked down. The sharp head of an arrow protruded from his midriff coated in blood. For the godlike Rider, the wound was minor and would easily heal once the arrow was removed, but for the angel behind him . . .

She released him, dropping onto her feet and nearly stumbling. War turned around while pulling the arrow free of his body without a sound of pain. The dark angel clutched at her belly where her dress was blooming with crimson and doubtless her back was doing the same as well. Her usual blank expression was white with shock and she stared down at her hands, seeing the blood clinging to her fingers.

"Darissa, come with me. I can get you to your people, they can heal this."

"Don't touch me," her lips quivered as she spoke, "I have less time than I had thought now . . . I can't play with you anymore."

And she was gone. Dropping into the earth has water through a thin cloth. War uttered a foul oath and looked up into the distance just in time to see a divine light flare and disappear.

* * *

 

When Death entered Sodom, he walked in donning the guise of a traveler bearing a thick cloak. To the human eye, he was a small man, with a thin bony body with a long walking stick; none of them could see him as he truly was unless he wished it.

Most of them gave him a wide berth believing him to be a poor beggar or foreigner which was fine with Death. He wasn't here to examine normal humans anyway. Upon visiting this place, the first thing Death noticed that the humans here were morally loose. More than once he passed a drunkard belting out a song with wine staining his clothes and others he saw humans rutting together in allies.

And this was the Creator's Chosen race? This is the race the angels defended from demons? If it wasn't for the sake of the Balance, Death would sooner let Hell have this place. It was already half way there.

He walked the city, his supernatural senses open and alert for anything inhuman. He withstood curses when he treaded too close to an upper class shop and was spit upon when a human simply didn't like the look of him. Just as he was ready to say to hell with this city and move onto Gomarrah, then he felt it.

The energy of a serpent hole being open and closed was happening nearby. Any human would sense it as a sudden sense de ja vu or shiver along the spine. Death headed in the general direction. And just as he thought he had already seen how decrepit this city could be, he walked into an even worse place.

He approached the steps of a brothel. Women of all sizes were standing outside, showing off their charms and goods with oiled skin and jeweled limbs. Some of them jeered at him while others offered him pleasures in high sultry voices. The tall bald man at the door halted him and it took only waving a handful of gilt, gold to human eyes, and he was admitted inside.

The smell in the air was thick with essence, sex, sweat, and even blood. He could hear the giggles and sobs of women and the guffaws and groans of men. Half cladded women danced swinging hips and waving limbs artfully to entice while others moved topless among the clientele offering wine and themselves.

He looked, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary . . . or as ordinary as it could be in such a place. No demons, no angels, nothing inhuman. But he was certain that a serpent hole opened near here. Should he search outside?

Then his senses were swamped by garish perfume. A thick plump woman whose body chimed when she moved due to all the jewelry she wore. She wore red silks that barely contained the rolls of fat at her sides. Her oiled hair was pinned back from her face in ornate hairpins and she spoke in a thick accent. "You not like what you see?"

Oh damn. He made himself stand out by not showing interest in the half naked women. However, it seems that this woman was the Madame of this place and she might give him some assistance. "I'm looking for something different."

"Different? How different?" The woman stared at him inquisitively. "You want men? We have pretty men."

"No! No, not men."

"You go upstairs. We find something you like. We not let you go with all your gold. Upstairs." She began herding him toward the stairs.

He might as well go upstairs. What he couldn't find down here, he may find on the second level. Fortunately, the Madame was distracted by a complaining client before she could follow him upstairs. She requested ( ordered ) him to find a room and one of her ladies would see what he would like.

The second room consisted of long halls with rooms along each side. From these rooms he could hear the sounds of sex: the groans of pleasure and slapping of flesh created an orgy of sound that sung to him from both sides. Just as he turned a corner, he heard voice speak with an angelic accent, "I want something untouched this time. I want something sweet."

A woman's voice answered, "Yes, yes, my lord, we have just the thing. Madame purchased her this morning. Please, drink and rest while I bring her to you."

Death stayed to the shadows of the dimly lit hall. So it appeared that an angel was coming to earth to sample human flesh. Not really a concern for the Balance, but likely breaking some profane law by the Angelic Race. Humans often had dealings with other races, though the contact was kept to a minimal to ensure that the Charred Council's attention wouldn't be gained as it was forbidden to influence this world before the Apocalypse.

This couldn't have been what driven Darissa away from Earth. She was an adult and had sought out sexual encounter for herself. An angel partaking in sexual exploits couldn't have been so mind blasting . . .

The angel spoke again and this time Death was in the same hall.

"Shhh, don't be afraid. It's alright. Come here and let me see you. Are you afraid of my wings? Don't be. Come here and I'll let you touch them. What's your name?"

The voice that replied wasn't a woman's voice. "Mimi."

Death stopped, his body frozen in mid-step.

"Mimi, come here. You're a beautiful girl."

Death dropped his disguise as he found the right door. A door further down the hall opened and a man would have sauntered out, satisfied, but he saw Death standing so tall he nearly took up the hallway. The man gulped and withdrew back into his room.

"I said come here. You don't want to make me angry."

Death's boot kicked the door so hard the right frame of the door was punched off from the wall. An angel was sitting on a pile of scented cushions shirtless with white wings spread behind him. He had been leaning out, hand outstretched toward a small girl, no older than five. She had been dressed in the same fashion as the women down below, but it was vulgar on her body as it didn't fit her right because she simply lacked the womanly curves to fill it out.

The angel stared at him with dawning horror. He was a handsome man with sharp features and his silvery hair cropped short.

Death knew who he was though he had never met the man. "Freniel, I take it?"

The angel's face flexed in sheer hatred, "Rider."

Death crossed the room and was on him before he react. His fist collided with the angel's jaw stunning him enough for him to seize him by the arm and neck and hauls him upward. He half dragged and carried Freniel toward the door and then punted him through with a fierce kick. The angel collided with the opposite wall. Death exited and closed the door behind him.

Freniel turned with a blade of blue steel in hand, but Death easily moved to the side and caught his wrist sharply twisting it nearly to the breaking point. The angel hollered dropping the blade and then received another blow to the head. Death held his wrist and gave him a moment for his head to clear, but only a moment, "This is what Darissa saw that threw her over the edge, wasn't it?"

"Damn you and her both." Freniel muttered through bloodied lips.

During this, the prostitutes and their clientele were shrieking, vacating the upper level with screams of monsters and beasts. Death ignored them, his attention taken completely by the bleeding filth he held. He went ahead and broke the wrist and while Freniel was in mid scream, he kicked him. The blow was hard enough to send the angel across the floor to the far end of the hall.

Death collected the blue bladed knife and tucked it into his boot. "What happened? She saw you doing this and you threatened her? Told her that no one would believe the words of a black winged angel over an upstanding angel citizen such as yourself?"

"Not exactly." Frenial lifted his head, as he pushed himself to sit up. "She did see me. The bitch felt it was necessary to greet me since I was the one who put her name forward. She followed me to this city and saw me indulge myself."

"Is that what it's called? Indulging? I thought it was called raping children." Death stalked down the hall toward him.

"I have . . . needs." Freniel pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. "You don't understand. To want something that you know you shouldn't want and feel guilty for it every day."

"Shut up." Death snapped, "You won't win my sympathies because I have none to give. You've been doing this for a long time, I take it?"

"Ever since the stones of this city was first laid." Freniel chuckled, "Most of the women here know me as I was their first."

This earned him another blow to the head that felled him. He hit the floor with a thud and he groaned as he rolled his jaw. Death grabbed him by the wing and yanked him upward to a sitting position, "What happened after she saw you?"

"I told the bitch that I knew about what she had been up to in the Far East." Freniel glared back at him with equal hatred.

"And what was she up to?" Death considered banging the fool's head against the wall, but didn't think he would stop once he got going.

"There's a military cult that worships her. They've been spreading killing any that refuse to convert. They've murdered whole villages."

Death blinked. "What?"

"They worship little clay figures of her when they are away from the main temple. Go to the east and you will see for yourself." Freniel spat blood onto the floor. "What? You didn't think her above that? Yes, I do rape children, but her cult has murdered them by the hundreds. So which is worse? To kill a child or to rape a child?"

Death never answered his question. "Don't ever return to this place."

"What?" Death released him. The angel watched him stand and turned away. "You're not going to kill me?"

"Oh, I want to kill you, I really do. But killing you would result in me having to touch you more than I want to and I am not in the mood to spend the next hour washing your wretched blood off Harvester. Also, I think the disgrace you would endure once the White City knows of your indulgences would be far worse than death. I believe Azrael told me of what they do to men that exploit children."

Death took deep satisfaction in Freniel's paling face as the realization that his life was over sunk in. He returned to Freniel's room and did not see the child. He walked into the room looking, into tight corners where a child may be hiding. Then he heard a sob coming from the pile of cushions and sheets that Freniel had occupied. He noticed the trembling lump that he had mistaken for cushion.

He crossed the room and drew back the sheets. The girl, Mimi, was curled into a tight ball and was covering her face with both hands in terror. The gaudy garment was falling off her body, it was meant for someone older. He took it off her; it came off easily in his hands as that was its function for easier access to her body. He snagged Freniel's discard shirt from the floor and thrust it over her head. It by no means fit her, but it covered her almost completely.

She wailed when he lifted her under one arm and carried her out of the room. Freniel was gone which was better because Death may have given into temptation and killed him there. He headed down the stairs, drawing Harvester from his back and carried it one handed.

The downstairs was in chaos upon his arrival. Women screamed and men cursed calling for the guard. Death couldn't have cared one wit.

"You not leave with her. You pay, then you take." Oh Oblivion, the fat Madame's greed was bigger than her fear of him. She waddled to him, her chins wobbling as she spoke angrily. "You disturb this business by fighting. Against rules. I not do business with your kind anymore if break rules."

"You've done business with my kind?" Death raised an eyebrow behind his mask.

"Demons. Monsters. All the same if pay."

Why was he not surprised by this? If this wench was willing to sell a child's innocence to an angel then why not to a demon? He didn't which he was more disgusted by: this woman's greed or mistaking him for a demon. "You have given children to demons?"

"No. I give children to demons that pay." Madame waved her arms toward the brothel around them. "Customers come to get something they like. Some like women. Some like boys. Some like black hair, gold hair, or red hair. Some like little girls. This business. No customers if not give them what they like."

"Spoken like a true merchant. I believe there's a demon merchant you should meet. I believe you two would get along splendidly." He moved forward to depart, but the fat woman moved to block him.

"You like little girls? I have more if you pay. Have some smaller than her if like smaller . . ." Her fat face wobbled as her body was suddenly jerked.

Death held Harvester in an unbreakable fist. The long end of the weapon was thrust deep between the woman's heavy breasts. His eyes glowed heatedly behind his mask and he spoke in a voice that have sent terror into the dark hearts of demons, "I have murdered millions, destroyed worlds, and created weapons of abominable power that have caused further destruction than you and your dense brethren could never imagine. Then I turned my hand against my own people and slaughtered all but a handful of us. And yes, in doing so, I have killed innocents, murdered many, many children. But . . ." Death drew the dying woman closer, his face coming inches of the terrified woman's till her vision held only his amber eyes that glowed with an intensity that would put Hell Fire to shame, "I have killed innocence, but I have never stolen innocence."

He kicked her off his weapon and left her to bleed to her death on the floor. No one approached him or stopped him when he left the brothel. The women who had been greeted all newcomers with smirks and promises of pleasure now hid from him and watched with horrified eyes as he summoned an undead horse from the earth itself.

Death mounted Despair in one fluid motion. He settled the girl before him on the saddle and she clutched at the saddle horn with both hands as she was taught to do so when her father brought her to Sodom to be sold that morning having too many children to feed. Death took the reins and left that hated place.

Damn them and their greed.


	9. I Am Sorry

Maion had believed himself to be alone when he entered his bedchambers. He had stripped off his helmet and chest plate down to his tabard. He felt rather than heard the presence behind him and when he turned, sword in hand, de ja vu as it was Darissa in his bedchambers again.

She was still lovely as when she was young. Her wings and hair blended with the darkness of his room making her skin and white dress gleam bright as a candle's light. However, at her stomach was a red stain.

"Darissa." He lowered his blade, staring at her in stark amazement. "What are you doing here?"

"I . . . wanted to see you. I had planned on coming later, but time has been taken from me," Darissa murmured.

"Darissa, why did you come here . . .? You know I can't let you go. My honor dictates that I must bring you before the High Council to answer for your crime . . ."

"I know. I'm sorry. I wanted to see you one more time." She pressed a hand to the red stain at her belly. "And to ask you a question."

Maion closed his grey eyes somberly. "I have to summon the guards."

"You will do what you have to do and I will do what I have to do. But please, firstly, tell me, tell me and I can surrender peacefully to my fate." Darissa, one who was usually devoid of emotion, took a shuddering breath and whispered, "If it were not for the Codex Bellum, your honor, your vows, my crime, and my black wings, would you have ever loved me?"

"Are you wounded?" His eyes dropped to her stomach. "By the Light, what happened? Who . . .?"

"Answer my question. Please . . ." Darissa's face was white and her lips trembled. "Would you have ever loved me, Lord Maion?"

Maion raised his eyes to her face. "Lady Darissa, I have loved you ever since you appeared to me in my bedchambers eons ago. I have adored the bravery you presented approaching me and I have seen the beauty in your dark wings and have never thought them any less than perfection."

A tear rolled down her white cheek. "Thank you."

Maion drew closer reaching out towards her, "Please, for my sake and the love I bear you, please let me take you the White Faith, they can heal you and I will tell the High Council of how you turned yourself in willingly. They will certainly be lenient towards you when they pass sentence."

"No, I cannot. There are a few things I must do before the end. I'm sorry." Darissa drew and before Maion could thrust his hand to grab her wrist, she disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

 

 

"You have some explaining to do, dark angel."

Death crouched over the remains of a war campsite. The remains of a bonfire and the trampling of human and hooves tore the turf. Litter and scraps of leather were left behind along with a trench for a latrine. Everything lay under a fine layer of snow, leading him to believe that he was a day behind the camp. The Pale Rider held figurine crafted out of ceramic molded into the shape of a tall woman with dark wings and hair.

So it would seem the Freniel spoke the truth, but what exactly was the truth? Did Darissa really create this cult herself? And what purpose did she intend for it if she did? Did she not say herself that she hated the humans for their violent ways? If that was the case, then why encourage it?

He lifted his head and looked at the tracks leading downhill toward a thick forest. If he would know more of this cult, then it looks as if a trip into the forest was required. He whistled a long soulful sound and from over a hill, Despair trotted toward him. The steed had foregone its usual gallop in favor in one of his two passengers. Dust was perched atop his head between his ears and seated toward the front of the saddle was a bundled figure who stared with wide dark eyes. The raven shook its feathers, shaking loose the clinging flakes from his wings.

Death pulled himself into the saddle behind the bundle taking up the reins. He brushed the collected snow from the furred pelt that the girl was bundled and urged Despair toward the forest.

Traveling with Mimi had been trying until he learned some tricks around it. She had been silent as the grave the night they left Sodom, clinging to the saddle horn as Despair galloped at an unnatural speed for a horse. It was early morning when she began to cry. Death tolerated the wailing until it started to grate on him.

He reared Despair to a halt. "What? What is it?"

The girl held onto the saddle horn whining pathetically. He picked her up and then saw the red chapped skin along her legs. Horse back chafing had never been a problem for the Rider, but then again, he had a higher tolerance and durability than any human or lesser being for that matter.

What solved that problem was taking a thick blanket he scavenged from a robbed caravan they came across and place it over the saddle so the girl's legs was protected from any further chafing. However, when he set the child on the ground to stretch her aching legs while he scavenged, she tried to run away. Or better yet, she tried to toddle away on short sore legs. She didn't get far, because once she fell in the sand, she lay there and wailed until Death collected her. It took him only three strides to cover the ground she fled.

Another concern was that Despair was limited in when it came to steep slopes. In the past, coming across such terrain the steed would simply leap down while Death held onto the saddle. When they leapt down a tall sand dune, the girl hovered off the saddle and would have fallen off if Death hadn't clutched her to his chest. Fortunately this was another problem that was resolved once they came to the cooler climate. Laying a long world pelt over her for protection against the falling snow allowed him to trap the ends between his knees and Despair's saddle, holding her in place if the ride should get 'flighty'.

And why was he going through all the trouble for this child? Because this child held irrefutable proof of Freniel's discretions in her memories which the angelic scribes could easily access. She was insurance if his word as the Rider of the Apocalypse didn't hold up in the White City or the physical proof of Freniel's blade he carried in his boot wasn't enough. They couldn't ignore the memories of the child being presented to the angel as a plaything.

As he approached the forest, he took note that he could be heading into danger. The forest was thick with a heavy canopy and the sun was setting. Dust couldn't scout ahead in this darkness and the imposing trees could hide attackers. Then he thought, well, he was Death, Rider of the Pale Horse. Things didn't happen to him, he happened to other things. Thus, Death went into the forest with the confidence that there was nothing no more dangerous than himself.

The child either slept or sang a wordless song to herself. Whichever, it was a great preference to her crying. The girl hummed to herself as she picked at the fur pelt around her. Death stood in his saddle to get a better view of the tracks ahead nearly startling the girl. If he had been human, there was no way he could have seen any tracks in this black night, but he wasn't human now was he?

Despair, who carried a higher intelligence than its mortal counterpart, and was following the tracks of torn turf and horse droppings. The snow was falling faster, patting through the canopy above. Death urged Despair to a steady trot, his large hooves overturning snow and soil. If the forest weren't so thick, he'd have the horse gallop, but with them possible gaining ground on the warriors, it would be wise to hold back. The war part was likely making make somewhere ahead and Death didn't want to alert them to his presence. Yet.

Mimi had become silent and was sucking at her fingers. It wouldn't be long before she would settle down to sleep either by leaning forward atop of the saddle or leaning back against his stomach. When she was tired enough, he could coax her forward with a hand on her shoulders to sleep forward. He needed to freely move in his saddle now without startling her awake each time. She tended to whine when she was woken up and took forever to settle back to sleep.

An hour past, and then another. The silence ringed in Death's ears and he knew something was wrong. Where were the crickets and cicadas? Not even the chirrup of a night bird? He slowed Despair to a gentle plod and looked. The impassive trees remained as silent sentinels and the only movement was the falling snow that fell in soft pats on his hair and shoulders. Occasionally a whispering sigh came from the child's sleep.

Something was here. Dammit!

He caught the light glinting off the trap wire just as Despair's hoof tripped it. With an inhuman speed that would be a blue to any naked eye, Death whipped Harvester from his back and thrust it upward in white arc. Harvester's blade split the swinging log in half the long way. The log shattered into splints of wood and littered the snow below.

Despair whinnied, Dust squawked, and the child sat up with a frighten cry. The cacophony of sound echoed throughout the trees replacing empty noise of the night.

"Shut up!" He roared.

All three noisemakers obediently shut up. Death rose in the saddle, splitting Harvester into two dual scythes and turned his head this way and that. Their cries dissipated into silence and Death listened hard. His companions ( if you could call a unearthly horse, an annoying cowardly bird, and an abandoned child companions ) blasted shrieking must have alerting anything within miles to their presence.

It's possible that the trap was left behind by the cultists to ward of any followers. But when has anything ever been simple?

The thundering beat of hooves came from the west. Looks like this may be a trapped after all. Perhaps his journey wouldn't last much longer after all.

He pushed Mimi to lean forward, tugging the pelt over her, "Stay down."

He watched the west and when the first rider came into the view, he cursed. He was wrong, it wasn't the cultists. It was something worse. Demons.

Damn it all!


	10. Ashes, Ashes

The Abyssal Knights sometimes called the Knight of Perdition, depending on what part of Hell you come from. And they were trailing behind Death their swords ringing in the night air and their horrid voices whooping their bloodlust. Death could hear the teeth tingling cracks of their whips on their mounts' flanks to overmatch the speed of Despair.

The child was whimpering her fear her small arms clinging to the saddle. Death rode with gritted teeth, shifting his feet in the stirrups for proper position to swing Harvester if they should get within range. It burned him to take this tactic, but he didn't dare take them on horseback. There were too many for him to ensure the girl wouldn't get slice by a stray blade.

From the corner of his eye, he could see a Knight gaining ground. Death waited, letting him draw within an arm's length before twisting at the waist and splitting the Knight in two with the long arc of Harvester. The torso flipped back and sadly did not trip up any of the pursuing horses' legs when it hit the ground. The Abyssal horse swayed away with a hollow wail and the chase continued.

Dammit, he hadn't planned on this. If they were simple humans, he could easily take them on horseback, but demons were different. They tended to have better skills than humans not to mention better armor and weapons. Oh, by no means were they a serious threat to him. Not at all, but he had precious cargo to protect.

He heard a whump behind him and every supernatural instinct he possessed had him lunge forward nearly putting his weight atop of the girl. He heard the whistle of a blade missing his neck and Despair whinnied as he thrust his rear into a power buck that nearly dislodged the Knight who had made an impressive onto his backend.

Death took this moment to wrench around with a dual scythe blocking a second blade. Sparks sprayed back into his mask and from the brief lighting cast a glow on his foe's face. It was demon, certainly enough, with blood red eyes, mouthful of sharp teeth, and a line of thorns along the nose. With a thrust of the blade, Death was able to force the demon the retreat with a short hop back onto his horse that never lost its gait.

They were starting to crowd them from behind. He waited, even had Death slow his gallop to let them catch up. He undid a leather strap along his bracer and used it to secure the girl to the saddle. She stared up at him from the depth of the pelt, her face shining with tears.

"Keep your head down and hold on." He tightened the leather around her waist and the pelt.

He braced his feet on the saddle and back flipped off the steed. As his body arched over, it was enveloped in a purple glow and when he landed in the midst of the charging demons, he was in his Grim Reaper form. He swung the powerful scythe. Torso severe, heads decapitated, and horses fell off their legs after the scythe finished its wide arc. Dozens of pursuers managed to avoid the long reach of the weapon, but their numbers were still diminished after that sweeping attack.

They came at him, some riding their mounts and others taken to foot. A call rang out, "You three, follow the nag! We get more if we bring him the human child alive."

With that small tidbit of information, Death knew who sent the mercenaries. He should have broken Freniel's body into pieces, shatter his insanity with tortures known only by the Nephilim, and cast his soul into Oblivion. He thrust the scythe forward, catching a demon merc about the shoulders neatly severing his head from them. He had to end this quickly and get back to Despair.

And quickly it ended. Without being encumbered, he was able to move freely. He dismissed the Reaper form he took on and fell into the beauty and precision of combat. He artfully dodged their blades and cleaved their flesh with his own. Harvester sliced through armor, skin, sinew, and bone alike. Only a few of their attacks could land blows that left cuts on his body which did not bleed.

When the last foe fell, he turned and ran. He darted through the trees, the dual blades of Harvester crossed behind his back. His fists gripped the blades tightly and tighter yet when he heard Despair's high pitched shrieked.

Despair reared on his hind legs as another barbed lasso snagged his head. Two Knights held the black ropes tight in a desperate bid to restrain the steed. The third Knight duck beneath the ropes and avoided the hooves reaching toward the weeping child lashed to the saddled with long black claws. He never touched her. A spinning scythe loped off the offending hand at the wrist.

The ropes slacken as two more demons fell. Death reclaimed his thrown scythe and casually cut the cursing demon's head off. He molded Harvester back into one tall scythe and ripped the lassoes from Despair's neck. The horse whickered, nostrils flaring as its sides shuddered for the much needed rest. The child whimpered with her hands pressed over her eyes as sobs wracked her small body. Death stroked her brow, "Stop, stop, there's no more need for that."

The child calmed swallowing back her sobs and Death glanced at the insignia relief on the demon's armor and shields and recognized it. He undid the leather straps from around the girl and set her on the ground to allow her stretch her legs or make water if she needed to. He took this chance to think and plan.

If the demon that holds this insignia was involved than it was nearby. Dust looked him with a tilt of his black head inquisitively. Death said, "Go on and see what you can find."

With an annoyed caw, the crow flung itself off the saddle and his wings carried him into the darkness. Death considered bringing one of the demons back, but demons have this thing for withholding information especially to spite the questioner and likely didn't know anything more than what their targets were.

Death glanced at the girl who was holding a stick and was drawing circles in the snow with the black blood of demons.

Dust returned an hour later. By the time the girl had been returned to the saddle and was dozing off. She awaken when Death hauled himself into the saddle behind her and urged Despair forward. Despite the raven's dark body, Death's preternatural senses allowed him to see Dust against the darkness and follow.

Fortunately, this side trip didn't take him too far away from the human cult trail. It did take him out of the forest and along a clear field. It brought him to a small farm. The building was of stone and there were goats bleating inside a small pen. A wooden fence bordered the edges of the farm and sitting with feet on the bottom rung was a child. Standing nearby were two tall women wearing long grey dresses with faces hidden behind hoods. At their hips were two long serrated blades.

It was exactly who Death believed it to be. He dismounted several yards away. The woman, the nursemaids and also bodyguards drew their blades, but one wave from the child's hand and they lowered them.

Death approached, "Ash, how long have you been causing trouble on Earth?"

The child giggled with a song of bells that would enlighten the despondent into spiritual joy. "Not long enough silly Rider."

"Do you care to tell me why you sent your knights after me?" Death inquired standing five feet away from the child who was facing away toward the farm.

"Oh, no hard feelings. I knew they couldn't hurt you, so that's why I sent 'em. I did it as a favor for an old friend."

"And would this old friend is an angel." Death knew the answer since the connection made so much sense since he had discovered Freniel's dark tastes.

"Oh poo, I was hoping to surprise you with that."

Death uttered a sigh of disgust. "Ash, you can stop with that act. It hadn't fooled me when eons ago and it won't fool me now."

The child was silent for several moments before it dropped firmly onto the earth from the fence. The voice that came from the child didn't belong to any youngling. It was a deeper smoother voice feminine, but too deep to belong to a girl. A very gender neutral voice. "You are no fun."

Death drew closer standing along the fence next to the child who was barely half his height. "How long have you known Freniel?"

"For a very long time, Rider." Ash, the demon who maintains the eternal appearance of a lovely androgynous child replied. The child's hair was raven black swept back from brow where V shaped horns curled along the scalp. The skin was pale with a grayish tint. Large red eyes, the shade of newly spilt blood regarded the Horsemen with boredom.

"And with what I have recently learned about the angel, I believe I can guess at the sort of relationship you had with him," Death said with great disdain.

Ash chuckled without mirth, "Oh, yes. He came to me because I had something he could never get in Heaven . . . at least not without being caught. I believe it assuage his guilt that I was older than even he."

"And what did you get in return?" Death barely managed to hide his shudder of disgust at the images that crawled through his head.

"Information, but nothing that would threaten your precious Balance. Just insider information regarding the angels on the High Council and any latest news in the White City. Oh, tell your brother that I said good work with the Sacrament Bomb." Ash gave him a grin with small baby teeth with fangs sharp.

"I'll pass the message along." Death muttered. An angel lying with a demon in the shape of a child . . . this was getting worse and worse the more he uncovered. "What happened?"

"Regrettably, Freniel became dissatisfied with me. He wanted the real thing. Not just shape of it." Ash ran her hands along her body. "Then he saw how pretty little human girls were and he stopped coming to me and went to Earth."

"Do you know why he put Darissa's name forward when they were electing an Angel of Death?" Death leaned against the fence.

"Freniel has always been paranoid about being caught. He has a lot to lose if it ever comes out that he adores more than little girls' smiles. When he came to me, it was only on forgotten or dying worlds hidden away. I imagine the reason why he elected Darissa was that she was a sort of outcast in Heaven." Ash crossed its arms in thought. "Also, she kept to herself and stayed out of another's business. He likely believed that he could sneak to Earth to sate himself without her nosing in on him."

"And what do you know about Darissa's cult?" Death turned away touch his chin in thought. "Is it true that they are worshipping her?"

"Not much." Ash shrugged small shoulders. "I don't pay that much attention to what happens on Earth, but since I arrived I've picked up a few tidbits of information. They call themselves the Lady's Grace. They worship little figurines that resemble our good Angel of Death."

Ash raised a hand and pointed toward the west, "No need to follow their trail. Just head in that direction and you'll come across a village that they are forcefully converting the people."

"You are being rather forthcoming with information, Ash." Death commented crossing his arms and regarding the demon with suspicion.

Ash stepped away from the fence toward the waiting handmaidens. "You know what they say about a woman scorned and all . . ." The small demon glanced at Despair. "Freniel will kill to keep his secret. If he has to, he'll kill the girl, but if he can, he'll take her and keep her. At least until he finds another degenerate brothel that will supply him with what he craves."

Death turned away and returned to Despair. The girl was sleeping with a thumb stuck in her mouth. She didn't wake when Death mounted and directed Despair toward the west.

There was no way he could use Ash to testify again Freniel. Heaven would never take a demon's word over an angel's. The child was still the only solid piece of evidence he had that the High Council couldn't ignore. And when he managed to wrangled Darissa in, her word should carry more weight. Right now, he had to find out more about this cult, because if she really had influence the humans to the point of worshiping her, then she had to be dealt with. It'll be hard enough for him as a Horsemen to bring charges against Freniel in the White City, especially since they were so unpopular at the time.

But something didn't feel right about this. He didn't know her well, having only met her a few times and what Azrael had told him, but something about the whole thing didn't set right with him. Darissa wasn't vain, insane, or ambitious to lead humans astray like this.

Just as he past the farm, Ash called out to him, "Oh, by the way, I thought it might be of some interest to you that the cities Sodom and Gomorrah have been burned to cinders by Divine Fire. And they say you did it."

Death yanked Despair to such a sudden halt that the pale steed reared back. "What in damnation!?"


	11. The Lady

The old man walked heavily into the village a hand wrapped tightly around an obscure walking staff and the other tightly hold the small hand of a young girl. He walked with a low hunch to his back and his steps were slow, but strong. Under the hood, sharp amber eyes looked at the warriors tending to their horses and weapons at the village's edge. At the gateway stood two tall poles with the figuring of a long dark hair woman with black wings. The old man stopped to stare at these totems before they were accosted by two soldiers.

The men each carried spears taller than them and wore a holy symbol at their breasts. "You've come to hear the words of our Lady?"

The old man faltered, "I've come to hear words."

The man who spoke scrutinized the elder, his thumb rubbing the shaft of the spear. "And this is your granddaughter?"

"She is someone's granddaughter." The old man's voice rumbled.

The little girl glanced between the men with wide innocent eyes. The guards glanced at each and then nodded. The other man stood aside, "Come, hear the Holy Words and know the Lady's Grace."

The old man went on with the girl in tow. The village buildings were pock marked with signs of battle with barely covered bloodstains in the dirt. The old man and girl made their way toward the village square where people were gathered. They were silent with frighten faces, most of them tear stained and bruised. The women clutched their children close while the men looked beaten and frail. The strong and brave died in the battle from the night before. The villagers didn't notice the old man and girl entering the throng. If they weren't drowning in their own despair, they might have noticed the old man's eyes free of fear or grief. His eyes were firmly on the robed figure standing among the soldiers.

The man in the robe was elderly, but he stood tall and proud as any youth. His voice was edged with age, but spoke with the authority of any royal prince or king. The passion in his speech would rival any herald.

"The Lady loves you all. Loves you more than your Earthly mothers could ever love you. But as she loves you, she is strict and demands our obedience and worship. As a mother must discipline an unruly child, our Lady cannot do any less for the children she loves."

His words carried the attention of many of the villagers. Others were too distraught over their losses to pay much mind. The old man watched the elderly priest taking in every word and trying to match it with the distant introverted angel he had become acquainted with. The little girl only wondered when they would be able to eat the food she smelled cooking.

The priest's held up a jar of oil, "Come forward and received the Lady's blessing and become one of her children. She is beckoning you now."

At first, no one moved as the priest looked expectantly at them. Then slowly, one by one, villagers moved forward. Each one knelt before him while he poured oil upon their heads welcoming them into the cult. The old man, who wasn't quite was he appeared to be, understood the implication. Go and accept the teachings and be fed and protected. Any who refused were 'educated' until they accepted. Denied food and water until they either expired or accepted the cult's scripture.

There were some who held back with stubborn anger in their eyes. The soldiers were moving in to herd them away. Death determine he would learn more by being receptive to the Priest's words than being locked away to be starved. He moved forward taking the girl with him. He held back to take the last in line to be blessed.

He studied the priest as he waited. The man's hair was silver with flecks of gray and sharp blue eyes that looked each convert directly in the face as they came forward. When it was their turn in line, the priest looked at them and for a moment before smiling warmly, "Have you traveled far with your granddaughter, traveler?"

Ah, so he knows they are not from this village. He was perceptive, not blinded by his own self importance. His robes weren't elaborate, but were dusty from long travel and his only decoration was a simple black feather on a leather tether.

"Yes, we have traveled very far indeed to hear the Words," Death replied. "And since we have traveled far, we would like to receive our 'blessing' and be rested and fed."

"Of course, come dear child." The priest held up the clay jar. The girl looked curiously at it, and after a firm nudge from Death she stepped forward and clasped her small hands together. After she was anointed with oil, the priest held out the jar to him.

"If I kneel, I may not stand again as we have traveled long and far. And I have many questions regarding the Lady before I can accept her Blessing."

It was a risk, but Death needed to learn more about how Darissa was involved with this cult other than her image being part of their worship. The priest retained his smile, "Of course, I am more than happy to explain the ways of our Lady to those who haven't had the fortune of knowing Her."

Mimi was rubbing at the oil in her hair. Priest summoned a woman servant. "Take the child. Bathe her and cloth her then let her eat."

Death glanced up at the dark bird that perched atop of a burned out hut. Dust took flight following Mimi and the servant. If the worse happens, at least he'll know where the girl was.

* * *

 

I was a boy when I first beheld her. There was a sickness that swept through our small village. It claimed the lives of young and old alike. Death visited every family that season. It claimed the lives of my elder brother and younger sister and drove my mother mad with grief.

The disease ravaged my body for days and nights. I floated between sleep and consciousness and the healer, as wise and skillful as he was, could not help me. I lay in my bed waiting to die. I prayed to the Old Gods to let my death be swift and to take me from the pain of the disease. On the last night, as I prayed for death, She came.

I believed Her to be one of the Christian Sister from far away until I saw Her wings which filled the room as dark night. Her skin was white as ivory with dark hair. She looked at me with such pity, that I felt shame for being the one to cause Her such pain. Her presence gave me strength and I found a powerful will to live, to not slip into death. I stopped praying to the Old Gods and began praying to Her. I begged Her to heal me and to aid my stricken village, to banish this plague. And days later, I was able to rising from my bed on my own rejuvenated and strong and in the following days, the disease left our village and those sick began to rise.

From that day forward, I forsook the Old Gods who did nothing as my people died and dedicated myself to Her. My father was a potter and as was custom, I was learning his craft before the Lady came to me. I crafted small clay figurines to show Her my devotion and prayed to her each morning when I rose and each night before I slept. The others thought me mad as my poor mother, that he illness had ravished my mind as grief had hers. It was years later before they realized the truth.

A drought had turned the land to dry dirt that gave nothing but dust. Crops and cattle died for lack of water as our children began to die for lack of food. The village prayed and sacrificed animals to the Old Gods, but no rain came. I continued to pray to the Lady and I encouraged the others to do the same. I told them that my calls to Her was not enough. That it would take all of our prayers to draw Her eyes to our plight. It took many weeks of speaking to them and often times they would rebuke me by striking me and casting stones at me. But the land began to crack it was so dry and many had taken to drinking urine and animal blood to sate their thirsts.

Finally, I managed to gather the few who were willing to turn away from the uncaring Old Gods and came into my hut to pray to our Lady. And as we prayed, dark clouds covered the sky as far as our eyes could see and the sky rendered with thunder and opened letting loose a torrent of rain that soaked the earth for many days. We danced in the rain, not caring for our physical states singing praises to our Lady and rejoicing in the end of our suffering.

In the rain we destroyed the idols and altars of the Old Gods and cast out their priests. In their place we erected images of the Lady to show our gratitude to Her. Soon, other villages who too have suffered from the drought joined ours and in the years that followed we knew nothing, but bountiful harvests and mild weather that rained when it was hot and dry when it was cold.

Our great village grew and grew as the word of Our Lady spread far and wide. By the time my hair became gray, our village became a center of trade for our region and I was head of the temple of Our Lady's Grace. Despite, Our Lady's generosity, there were those who clung to the Old Gods and gods of faraway lands and refused to recognize Her. And Her anger was great and terrible. The ground shook and opened. Our buildings fell and many lost their lives. When the trembling earth calmed and the dust settled, we began to rebuild what was broken, but I feared that if something wasn't done soon, then Our Lady's anger would return and this time leave nothing that could be rebuilt.

I visited those I knew who worshiped the Old Gods and bade them to turn to the true Light. Alas, they refused and we had to take matters into our own hands. We burned them. And as their flesh seared, we tore apart their homes and threw their idols and worthless scripture into their pyres. And just as we cleansed our city of the non-believers, we turned our eyes to the rest of the world and knew that they too must bear witness to Our Lady's Grace.

* * *

 

Death grimly listened to the priest's story deep in thought. Was this Darissa he spoke about? The description fit and she would certainly be there if such a plague was claiming so many lives. However, would she influence them to kill their own people to frighten others into worshiping her? And if she was guilty of such, then why abandon Earth? His visit here only brought more questions than answers. He would need to speak with the source of this and that would be the elusive Darissa herself.

"You are silent, traveler. Has my story touched your heart so deeply, or are you weighing the truth of it?" the priest inquired.

"I believe your story, sire, but has the Lady every spoke to you? Have you ever heard Her speak?"

The priest stared down into his goblet of wine. He had earlier offered wine to Death which was politely declined. "No, She had never deemed me worthy to hear Her voice."

"Then how do you know you are carrying out her will?"

"Just because She doesn't use Her voice, does not mean She doesn't speak in other ways. She sends her signs through dreams, directing us of where we should go next and what punishment should be carried out on those who refuse Her love."

Mortal dreams were easily influenced by those who know how. So many pieces of the puzzle and he didn't know how to fit them together.

Dammit it all.


	12. Questions

They were allowed to spend the night in a hut with another family of three small children. Mimi played with the youngest while he collected his thoughts.

He came here seeking answers and now he had more questions. What was Darissa playing at? She declared her hatred of humanity for their crimes, but yet it seemed that she encouraged the very atrocities she supposedly abhor. A renegade Angel of Death, a pedophile angel, and a human cult; how did they all tie in together?

Ash. The demon child knew more than she saying. When did a demon every give the full truth without torture? However, the crux of it was that what she told him about the cult was not a lie and the truth of it was all around him.

Then came the biggest question: where did he go from here? Finding Darissa and confronting her would be the next definite step, however that didn't help that she could phase away like a shadow and the issue with Earth's lost souls wouldn't be resolved. Perhaps Azrael had found the answer.

Then he had to reveal what Freniel was to the White City and hand the child over to them as evidence of his dark crimes. That wouldn't be pleasant as the High Council considered it great offense for any of their respected generals and soldiers to be accused of deeds they considered dark or evil. And likely Freniel hid his perversion so well it would may take more than the child's memory to make them believe.

No, that wasn't his problem as a Rider to concern himself with the White City's citizens. His purpose was to enforce the Balance which brought him back around to wayward angel, Darissa, another angel the White City couldn't seem able to control. When did it come down to him to police the White City's own?

Sodom and Grommorah destruction had to be the work of Freniel. Likely destroying any evidence of his illicit visits. So many lives lost just to save his reputation and skin. However, likely the Charred Council was going to want answers from him regarding the accusations.

Anyway, he would wait until dark of night to take himself and the girl away from here. Even though he didn't find answers, the girl was able to eat well and wear fresh clothes and rest from hours of riding.

The family they shared the hovel began settling their young ones down for the night. There were protests and pleas for stories which was followed by gentle scoldings. Mimi watching them from where she sat on the floor, her young mind remembering her older siblings and a kindly mother who wept bitterly when her father decided that there was too many children to care for and the youngest must go. If Death, a being of incredible age and power, was to feel pity, it would be for her. She was the innocent in all of this sordid dismal and she had done nothing to deserve what nearly happened to her. And she could easily end up being the one that suffers the most before the end of it all.

She slept on a mat at his feet while he waited for darkness. When darkness came, so too did the men on horseback with torches led by the Priest. Death rose in a smooth flow of muscle and limb which would be impossible for any old man with arthritis or weary bones. Mimi watched him walk to the entryway of the hut and cowered beneath the blanket.

The Priest was dismounting as Death stepped outside. He once friendly gaze was now harden, but he still maintain a peaceful demeanor. "You aren't what you claimed to be, old man."

"And what is it that you suppose I am other what what you see before you?" Death's hand held the staff firmly.

"It could be that you are a spy. Your accent and mannerisms are strange. And the child's language hails from a land far to the west. Many, many leagues west. How can a child so young come this far without learning the language of this land along the way?" The Priest spoke loudly for all the hear. "The women I had attend were able to speak her language and though she was young, she told them quite a tale. She says that you are not her grandfather, but a tall man who wears a mask of death and rides a dead horse."

Death blinked. Humanity kept surprising him.

"And I look at you, and my eyes see not a humble old man who moves with aged bones, but something that pretends to be an old man and moves with the silent step of a stalking cat." Priest jabbed a finger in his direction. "I think perhaps, you are a demon in our midst."

Death blinked again. This Priest was very perceptive. Could it be that this human was gifted with with ability to see through magic and disguises? Regardless, now was the time to leave. He dropped his disguise allowing them to see his as he truly was, the Reaper. People shouted in fright, others dropped to their knees in prayer, but the Priest stared at him with smoldering eyes.

"I'm no demon, but don't let that make you think I'm any less dangerous." Death drew Harvester, now in it's true weapon form. "I was planning on leaving without violence if you will allow me. If not, then I'll be more than happy to give my fair share of bloodshed as we part ways."

Swords were drawn and curses spat, but the Priest held up his hand to silence any dissent or outcry. "If you are willing to leave us in peace, then so be it. Above all, the Lady does not wish us fight her battles with demons for her. However, the child must stay behind so we can cleanse her of your dark nature."

"No, I brought the child here and she will leave with me." He couldn't afford to loose his evidence against Freniel. "It seems that we won't be parting without bloodshed after all."

"And thus our Lady weeps for us."

* * *

 

Death killed a dozen of them before they left. There was no pursuit from the cult which was just as well. He had Despair slow to a trot and began to plan his next move. He was past due giving a report to the Charred Council. Likely they wanted him to answer for the destruction of two human cities. If what Ash said was true and they were destroyed by Divine Fire, then it could only be the work of Freniel. If Freniel had been a graduate of the Spiral Temple, then he would have knowledge of using Divine Fire. Since he was around when the first stones of the cities were laid, as he claimed, then he could have set up traps or circles that would have triggered whenever he wished. Likely he did in case his sordid secret was discovered then he could easily destroy all evidence and witnesses, but at the death of thousands.

To Death, Freniel seemed more like a Nephilim or demon than he was an angel.

The girl was sniffling and Death pulled the wolf pelt over her hoping that she will sleep during their journey North. He was returning to Darissa's home.

It was two days later when Death arrived to find Azrael waiting within Darissa's home. When Death entered through the doorway with Mimi under his arm, Azrael was standing at the shelf where Darissa kept her trinkets and were examining each one.

"Death, I have news," he greeted without turning around.

"As do I." Death set Mimi on the floor. "Is yours as bad as mine?"

"Likely worse." Azrael turned around and Death saw the worn lines on his face and the ancient scholar looked exhausted. "Darissa has suffered a fatal wound during her last encounter with your brothers. Search parties have been looking, but she hasn't been found. I've been here hoping that she'll return."

Death's eyes darken as a suspicion arose. "Give me the details."

Azrael spoke of how an arrow of arcane power had inflicted the wound. "Your brother survived easily due to his own as a Rider, but Darissa lacks such power. What power she has is allowing her to last longer with the injury than most, but she won't last much longer without the aid."

"And let me guess. The White City is blaming my brothers for this?"

"No official comment has been made by the High Council, but there are some officials who are being quite vocal with their accusations."

"And the arrow that inflicted the wound couldn't be traced?"

"It dissipated," Azrael replied. "It just an arrow of power after all. And we cannot even begin to guess of which of the Second Kingdom's magicians did this."

"What if it wasn't anyone of the Second Kingdom? What if it was someone of the First Kingdom?" Death crossed his arms. Though Azrael could not see his face, but he could see that it was filled with a deep anger.

"Why would anyone of the White City do such a thing?"

"To hide a dark perversion that if discovered with cost him everything." Then Death shared his story of what happened in the brothel.

"Are you certain?" Azrael's face was pale with shock.

"I barely stopped it in time." Death motioned to Mimi who was looking around the room. "If my word isn't enough for you, then please, look into her memories and see it for yourself. You'll see her being offered to him."

"Frenial is a pedophile!? I cannot believe it. He's always acted appropriately for someone of his status."

"He's hidden it well. He's been careful and has taken measures to destroy all evidence if it should be discovered. He's decimated two human cities to cover it all up and lay the blame on me." Death began pacing, his large boots leaving a trail in the carpet. "Of course, in his panic he didn't realize that in using Divine Fire he proved my innocence despite accusing me. I can't use Divine power anymore than you can use Demonic power."

"True, that should easily disavow you of any blame, but we're still no closer to getting the answers or the solution to Darissa's abandonment." Azrael tucked his hands into his deep sleeves and bowed his head in deep thought. "Also, I should share with you that my acolytes and I have discovered a way to prevent Darissa from phasing through solids. It's an enchanted circle that can be painted onto her skin and keep her solid. However, if it's broken, then the charm stops working."

"I have another piece of news for you." Death then relayed Freniel's accusation of Darissa's cult and his investigation into the matter.

"No, I don't believe it." Azrael shook his head so fiercely his white shook against his shoulders. "Darissa would never do such a thing. She . . . cannot, it's not in her to do anything of the sort!"

"I believe you, old scholar. If she was the sort that coveted such worship she would be basking in it instead of becoming a fugitive of the Council." Death stopped pacing and looked at the shelf where the clay figure of the dark winged angel sat. "Someone manipulated that priest and it wasn't Darissa . . ."

Death stopped. Slowly, the threads began to weave together and form a picture. Of course, why did it take so long for him to figure it out. And as it came together, he formed a plan. "Azrael, I believe I may have figured it all out. And I may have a way that we can absolve Darissa."

Damn, it was going to be good.


	13. Answers

Freniel wasn't happy about being summoned to Abbadon's private chambers. He was busy coordinating his corp to search for Darissa. His silver hair which was usually neatly groomed hung in strands about his eyes. He kept reassuring himself that he had done everything to hide his secret and that any who accused him would be in doubt. There was no need to worry, he told himself. He had kept this secret hidden for centuries and he could keep it for centuries more.

He had always been careful, so very careful.

A servant showed him to the quarters and announced him. Abbadon stood tall wearing his blue and silver armor and surprisingly, beside him was Azrael who greeted him with a scornful look. Frenial had a moment of panic which he hid behind an unmoving face. He greeted them both bowing with a hand clasp over his chest in a soldier salute.

"Abbadon, it's an honor."

"At ease, Lord Frenial." Abbadon waved a hand at him. His hard face was grim and he moved to a desk where reports were piled. "Very serious accusations have been made against you. Are you aware of them?"

"Yes sir. I am aware." Frenial glanced at Azrael, but the scholar's face betrayed nothing.

"I would rather this be handled at a different time, but Azrael is adamant that we take care of this now. And since I know that there is no value in his accusation against you, then I believe it can be dealt with quickly, granted the source of the information was provided by a Rider."

"Of course, sire. And I would like to say something in regard to this issue." Frenial glanced at Azrael, knowing that his stance was solid and he could easily cast doubt onto any evidence. "Firstly, the accusation that I would lie with children is appalling enough, but to say that I would lie with a demon is just a disgrace not only to my name but to the accuser as well."

Abbadon's snowy eyebrows rose. "A demon?"

"Yes sir, the accusation against me. Saying that I would consort with the demonic child Ash." Frenial flicked his wings in annoyance, then he saw the smile on Azrael's lips and then he realized his error.

"What in the name of the 12 Saints of Sethat are you talking about!?" Abbadon's remaining eye glared at him. "I'm talking about the accusation that it was one of your subordinates who shot Darissa with the arrow."

Azrael cleared his throat and said, "I brought forward the source of the arrow that the Rider, War, told me about."

Then Frenial saw that he had walked into a trap and it had sprung. Abbadon was staring at him incredulously, "Where does abusing children and consorting with a demon fit into all of this?"

"I never said anything about demons or children, Abbadon." Azrael said with his eyes never leaving Frenial. "Since Frenial brought it up, Abbadon, my old friend, I would like to lay the charge of pedophilia and treason against Frenial based on his confession, a testimony Death received from the demon Ash, and the memories of a human child that nearly became Frenial's latest victim."

It wasn't the serious tone in Azrael's voice that convinced Abbadon that there was truth behind these accusations. It was the sweat on Frenial's brow and the way his bottom lip trembled in horror. "Perhaps I should go over this evidence carefully."

* * *

 

The garden had once belong to a proud race known for it's architectural beauty. Within the garden was a pool where lily pads with brilliant blossoms floated on the surface. The water which was once pure was clouded with crimson with the source accompanying the lily pads. Darissa floated on her back, her ebony wings spread out behind her, their feathery outline barely visible through the red. Her hair spread about her face has a dark halo causing her face to pale more and more as her blood left her body.

This was a peaceful way to die. Soon she would drift beneath the water and disappear as it should have been at her birth.

A splash startled her and sloshing drew closer and closer making the lily pads bobble on the waves. Then she was lifted out of the water and carried from it. Death had come for her, but not the end of her life death, the Reaper.

The Rider Death set her on the edge of the pool and pressed a hand firmly across her stomach to stifle the blood flow. "I don't have any healing magic, but I can take you to an Heavenly outpost that can heal you."

"It's no matter," she replied.

"Darissa, Frenial is going to answer for his crimes. Azrael is taking care of it right now. I've pieced together what may have happened, but there are some things that aren't quite clear to me."

"I see." Darissa closed her eyes for several moments, then slowly opened them, "Yes, I . . . I will tell you."

Death curled an arm beneath her lifted her to a sit. Then she shared her tale.

* * *

 

I performed my duties as an Angel of Death well. I guided countless souls to the Well of Souls as was my duty. Sometimes, when there is a lot of death such as a disaster war or disease, I go in person to handle it. Years ago, I attended the victims of a plague. I went into a village where one by one the inhabitants were passing away.

The boy had the gift of sight. It's a rare gift that humans can receive at birth. He was able to see my true self despite my disguise. It wasn't the first time someone had seen me as I truly was. Most of those who have the gift often believe they are mad or just seeing figments of their imagination. Most dismiss me as such, but not him. He believed that I had came and cured the plague not knowing that the plague had reached it's peak and was going to cease.

I . . .I thought it was charming, the way he made small clay figures of me. I even kept one. I didn't think it would come to any harm. I believed that he would grow out of it, but he never did. When he was a young man, there was a terrible drought. He convinced others to follow him in praying to me and believed that I was the one to call the rain. There had been a hurricane several leagues away that struck land and blew the rain to his land, but he didn't know that.

Then his cult began. They came in droves to his preachings and I panicked, not knowing what to do. When they began to shun and hurt those who wouldn't worship me, I sought out Frenial for his advice and to report what had happened to a superior.

I found him in Sodom and I saw him defiling an innocent. He threatened me, hurt me, he told me that if I should tell anyone about him then he would tell them that I was the one who created the cult. I was at a loss. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't do anything nor could I seek help. Then the cult began their crusade and I couldn't bear to watch it. I left.

* * *

 

Elsewhere, in the White City, Frenial was sitting on a chair his armor removed wearing only his tunic and trousers. Two angel guards, one of them Maion stood behind him watching him warily. Abbadon was raking his fingers through his hair, while Azrael looked as if he smelled someone foul.

"How long?" Abbadon demanded.

"A long time." Frenial had his head bowed. "I've had these feelings ever since I can remember."

"But children!? Children!?" Abbadon seized his hair and yanked him forward bringing his face close. His teeth was bared and through them he hissed, "Have you ever touched any of the children White City, Frenial? Have you!?"

"No! Never!" Frenial wailed as his hair was twisted from his scalp.

Azrael scoffed, "Because he would be too easily caught if he did."

Abbadon flung Frenial away and stood straight. "I want to know what part you had in Darissa's incident. And tell it true or so help me, I will bring in my personal interrogator to drag it out of you."

Frenial was quiet and then gave his tale.

* * *

 

For centuries I have sated my desires with Ash, the demon child. In exchange for her services, I provided her information regarding the politics of the White City. Nothing about our military secrets, just the going ons within the upper crust for her information broker.

Then the Third Kingdom was created and after the Nephilim War, the humans were taken to Earth to live. Centuries later, I went to Earth to investigate demon hunters trespassing, testing the fragile treaties.

There was a human child, a girl of perhaps seven or eight. She had hair the shade of a autumn leaf and eyes pools of jade. She saw me and I would have left her alone. Rein in my lust, and just leave her peace. But she smiled at me and all my reservations broke down. I can see from the disgust in your face is that you don't wish to hear the details of my liaison with her, but don't you see? She wanted me. Her young mind didn't understand, but her body did! Yes, she . . .she did get scared and cried, but in the end, she liked it. . . .I . . .

I put Darissa's name forward to become the Angel of Death for Earth because I knew of her reputation of being a private individual. She wasn't one of those bottom feeders who would feel the need to greet me during each of my visits to Earth and would stay well out of my business. I paid attention to what was happening her and knew of the growing cult that worshiped her. Then she came to me for advice of what to do and she caught me while I was . . . enjoying myself.

I blackmailed her for silence and I arranged for my old lover Ash to manipulate the leader of the cult's dreams. If Darissa was accused of rallying a religion around her, then any word she would have against me wouldn't carry weight as she would have been considered a traitor and blasphemer and I would be free to do as I wished.

I didn't know that the bitch would leave Earth. I didn't believe she would be that stupid.

However, Death caught me in the act as well and I had no choice for to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah with the power of Divine Fire to hide my many crimes.

I had to protect myself. I can't help it that I have these thoughts. The Creator did this to me. He put these things in my head, these desires. I can only act on them. I can only carry out his will . . .

* * *

 

Death listened to Darissa's story and when she finished, he told her, "I believe that Frenial may have had a hand in creating the cult and Azrael is looking into that now, however, your abandonment cannot be excused. I have convinced the Charred Council to allow the White City to punish you as long as they have the assurance that you will return to your duties afterward."

"I . . .I can't," she whispered. "It is better this way." She closed her eyes, concentrated, then snapped her eyes open in shock. "What . . .?"

"Azrael discovered a symbol that would stop you from phasing. I drew it on your back while you told me your story. I put it in a place where you can't reach and I doubt that you even have the strength to try."

"Oh." Darissa closed her eyes and said, "You finally caught me, Death."

"Yes, I did."


	14. Epilogue

**A week later . . .**

Azrael stared out the window, his lips pursed into a thin scowl. "So Frenial escaped?"

Abbadon stood behind him and answered, "He was more powerful in the arcane than we anticipated. He had some tricks . . ."

"Spare me. Abbadon! Please, just spare me the lies. I know that the High Council wants to avoid a scandal." Azrael whirled around, his long sleeves flying. His face reddening as he drew closer to the general. He jabbed a finger into Abbadon's breastplate which was out of character for the quiet scholar. "I don't know whether it's the scandal of his raping children or that he consorted with a demon that the High Council wants to avoid. After everything he's done to Darissa, the Third Kingdom, and not to mention hundreds of innocent girls, you'll allow him to flee into exile where he will continue to inflict more pain just so it wouldn't be made public and the White City humiliated."

"And allow Hell the satisfaction of knowing that one of our own has such a sick perversion?" Abbadon snarled back. "Or that another of our own abandoned her role? It would have weakened our position that would have damaged us for centuries, if not for eternity! We were fortunate enough that we were able to take care of the matter before word could spread."

"Death was the one who took care of it all." Azrael retorted. "If it weren't for him then we would still have been in the dark about Frenial and Darissa would be lost to us! I see that you kept his involvement quiet as well!"

"Again, we can't let Creation think we can't handle our own problems! It was bad enough that the Charred Council had a hand in it at all!"

Both Archangels glared at each other, their silvery eyes not breaking contact. The tension in the room was palpable and one could almost see the power crackle between them. Finally, they stepped away from each other and the tension dropped between them.

Azrael lifted his eyes to Abbadon and asked, "If Frenial had been touching angel girls, then it would have been a completely different story."

"Scholar, that is not fair," Abbadon replied.

"But true."

Abbadon let that go, not wishing to get into another verbal fight with the scholar. "Darissa will be sentenced tomorrow. Given the circumstances, she won't be charged with blasphemy, but she will still have to deal with the consequences of abandonment."

"I understand," Azrael replied softly, turning back to the window.

"I will speak on her behalf with the council to see if some of her punishment can be mitigated."

"Thank you, old friend."

* * *

 

The next day, Darissa received her sentence.

For eternity, she will have no freedom. She would be constantly under guard by volunteers and on her back the circle that prevented her phasing ability would be tattooed forever preventing her from using it. And she would be forever barred from the White City, never to gaze upon the white towers of Heaven nor fly in the warm skies.

After the circle was tattooed into her flesh, she was led into a private chamber by a guard and left there alone. Sh stood by the window and watch the last sunset of Heaven that she would ever see. The door opened and Abbadon stepped inside and dismissed his aide wishing to speak with her privately.

Darissa turned and bowed despite the soreness in her back. The tattoo was black and was of elaborate circles and curves. Abbadon acknowledged her greeting and bade her to stand with a motion of one hand. "Darissa, I've come to discuss the issue of the cult. Something has to be done about it."

"Yes sir." Darissa's face was it's usual blank slate.

"If I understand correctly, you've done nothing to encourage it. It was only happenstance that the boy who saw you had the gift of sight and believed you to be a deity. And it was the Hellborn involvement that escalated the issue."

"Yes sir." Darissa tilted her head curiously.

"Humans are so easily led astray. I think it's because of their youth. Their societies are only a few thousand years old so like children they'll herd around any power greater then them. They only have to be led to the correct path and I believe you are that person to guide them."

Darissa furrowed her brow, somewhat confused. "Sire, I . . .I had believed that it was illegal to influence the humans."

"Oh, it is. It's against the treaty, but we didn't influence them. The demons already did that, we''ll. . . .you'll just lead them along the correct path."

"I . . .I believe I understand, but I'll be supervised. I . . ."

Abbadon raised a hand to halt her question. "I have considered that and that is why I personally handpicked those who understand Heaven's position on the matter and are willing to support you."

"I see." Darissa replied.

"Also, I have this for you." He drew a small vial from a pouch at his belt. "You'll know what to do with it."

He left her alone. She studied the liquid within the vial before she removed the cork. The strong smell told her that it was acid.

* * *

 

The Priest was leading a sermon when his Lady appeared behind him. He had been preaching within a tent to ward off the hot sun and the before him kneeling was the faithful, warriors, artisans, and farmers sat side by side to hear the Word. When they beheld the Lady, there were shouts of shock and praises. Signs were made with frantic fingers and heads touched the ground in worship. The Priest, with tears streaming down his eyes, would have dropped to his knees if Darissa hadn't taken his arm and stopped him.

"What happened to the little boy who used his hands to craft little figures of love instead of using them to kill?" She placed a small clay figurine in his hand that he had crafted with such care and adoration of her.

Darissa told them many things. She told them that she herself wasn't a deity, but merely a servant of the Creator, the God. She explained that no longer would they force others to convert, though willful converts will always be welcomed with open arms. She also told them that their fellowship would be under a different name. A name that means enlightened in the Angelic tongue. They would be called the Illuminati.

And as the people, the Illuminati, began their journey northward to create a home, Darissa held the hand of a certain gray winged individual who volunteered to be her guardian. Together they took flight over the plains toward the sunset. Darissa smile was nearly brighter than the sun. She had found acceptance in the eyes of the each of the humans down below who loved her for her dark wings and by her side was a companion whose sole duty was to stay by her side for eternity.

At her back was the circle, however along the edge of the upper ring was a red burn. It was likely caused by something that could burn flesh and caused the circle to be broken.

**Author's Note:**

> A work I did a couple years back. It's full of editing problems and typos and I will eventually come around to correcting these errors at a later date. Thank you for reading regardless of the problems.
> 
> Any comments, kudos, or feedback will be much appreciated.


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